The Whisky Distiller's Wife
by 2carm2carm2
Summary: "She wondered how either God or the law regarded two people who didn't know the first thing about each other entering into a farce of a marriage." A tale of two people navigating life together after the global financial crisis with plenty of Scotch and a wee bit of deception.
1. Prologue

**_distiller_**

[dih-stil-er] (noun). 1. a person or company whose business it is to extract alcoholic liquors by distillation.

* * *

In one of the literature classes that she had taken when she was younger, their class had all been randomly assigned different contemporary, non-fiction authors to follow, analyze, and debate the merits of their claims and assertions as they related to modern society.

In one of the books that her assigned author wrote, there was a passage that said: _"There is no limit to suffering human beings have been willing to inflict on others, no matter how innocent, no matter how young, and no matter how old. This fact must lead all reasonable human beings, that is, all human beings who take evidence seriously, to draw only one possible conclusion: Human nature is not basically good."_

At the time, she had vehemently opposed this assertion. She had written pages to prove the contrary, filled with a youthful determination and hope. She had ardently defended human nature as if she was defending the last strands of childhood innocence.

She had believed that humans are fundamentally good.

Now, she wasn't sure what she believed.

* * *

It was the bagpipes.

She had heard them earlier when she had been downstairs in the church.

The drones had hummed on and the sharp notes of Amazing Grace had cut through the stones so that she could clearly hear the music. So many hated the instrument and could not stand the high pitch noise they produced. It made their skin crawl. It was an instrument of war.

The bumps on her arms moved for a different reason.

She had grown up around the music. It had been a happy home with the sounds of the instrument often echoing through the halls and doorways, mixing with the smell of whatever had been cooking in the oven for dinner.

It had been a long time since she had heard the drones.

"Are ye ready then?" the elder woman next to her asked, breaking her out of her reprieve.

She noticed that the pipes had been replaced by the gentle strands of a piano.

At her nod, the woman knocked once on the door and then the ushers on the other side opened the two wooden doors in front of her. The pipes once again began to sound and the church full of strangers stood up in their seats.

She swallowed.

And then took a step forward.

Followed by another.

The gazes on her felt all different. Some looked at her with curiosity, some with suspicion, others with wariness, others with an unguarded happiness which she did not entirely understand. Her shoulders straightened under the weight of their stares as she walked forward.

The song.

She recognized it.

It had been one of her favorites when she was a girl. The way the music swelled and seemed to swirl promised greatness and joy. She had felt as if it would lift her up to God himself.

She could not remember the name of the piece.

As she walked toward the front of the church, she tried to visualize the back of the worn record that had sat on their living room table.

It had been Track #5.

She felt her brows furrow as she tried to remember what the words had been. It seemed so disappointingly silly to her that she should not remember the song that she had loved in her childhood. A song she had heard dozens and dozens of times.

But that had been a long time ago.

It was a small church and her walk down the aisle did not drag on endlessly.

Small mercies, she supposed.

As she attempted to remember the two words that made up the title to the song, she registered the man in front of her.

Her groom.

It was the first time she had gotten a proper chance to look at him. For a second, she halted her procession before quickly regaining her step.

The dark red and green hues of his tartan looked impossibly mighty as his kilt. She could see the colors on a sash pinned on his broad shoulders by an antique broch. His suit jacket fit him well as he stood with straight posture. She noticed that he was staring at her as intently as she had examined him.

Highland _something_ , she suddenly thought.

That was the song. It was Highland…and then a second word she couldn't remember.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, the song and piano slowed down and faded away. She had reached the end of her walk, she realized with blank surprise.

He nodded at her as she stopped walking. She blew a shallow breath out of her lips and nodded back.

"Mercy, grace, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all."

Highland…something.

Highland Sound? Highland Praise? Highland…?

As he spoke and welcomed them and the congregation to the ceremony, she continued to fixate on the song that had just been playing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bagpiper, resting his instrument against his chest. She stared at it, willing the title to jump into her mind as the echoes of the cords seemed to.

Her groom didn't seem to be dealing with such internal conflict. He was staring intently at the minister as he spoke about God's love and forgiveness manifested into marriage. It was all well enough that she was not listening, she had never been the best at keeping herself from scoffing when something she found blatantly untrue was said to her.

Highland Games? No of course not. Highland Choir? No.

And then they were facing each other, her hands having been slipped into his without her even fully being aware of it.

"I, Edward Anthony Godfrey Cullen MacDonald-"

"I, Edward Anthony Godfrey Cullen MacDonald-"

Her eyes widened at hearing how many names he had. Edward….something, something, something, MacDonald. What was the something, something, or other something?

"Take ye, Isabella Morag Swan, to be my wife."

Why did his eyes crinkle at her middle name?

"To have and to hold from this day forward…"

Shit what had the names been?

"In the presence of God, I make this vow."

She swallowed.

Right.

Time to play her part.

Apparently, that included remembering each one of her new husband's names. She had not been anticipating that he would has so many.

"I, Isabella Morag Swan…" the minister prompted.

She swallowed again.

"I, Isabella Morag Swan," she repeated obediently, the words slowly forcing themselves from her lips.

"Take ye, Edward Anthony Godfrey Cullen MacDonald, to be my husband."

"Take you, Edward Anthony…"

He met her eyes and with the slightest movement of his lips, he mouthed her the proper names.

"…Godfrey…Cullen MacDonald, to be my husband."

She repeated the rest of the vows without mistake

"In the presence of God, I make this vow."

As the ceremony proceeded and thunderous applause rang after they each had exchanged rings and been pronounced husband and wife, she wondered how either God or the law regarded two people who didn't know the first thing about each other entering into a farce of a marriage.


	2. Choices

"Bella, Bella, Bella! Slow down, honey!"

With a wince, Isabella drastically slowed down the movement of her arm so that she was going in slow and steady circles rather than frantic and erratic ones. She was attempting to reel in what felt like a giant fish and the fish was trying its hardest to prevent her from bringing it into the boat.

It was too late, by the time she had slowed down, the tension in her line disappeared and there was no longer a fish hooked at the end.

With a wince, she turned to look at her grandfather, who was raising both of his graying eyebrows at her.

"Lost it?"

"Yep."

"Well let's make sure you have enough worm still on there for something even bigger," he said, nodding at her pole.

They were out in a bay on one of the local lakes, 15 miles away from their home. It was getting close to dinner time, but the summer sun was still warm against her freckled face. She had to tilt her head up to feel the sun, since her grandmother insisted on her wearing a visor to shield her face.

Isabella let out a big sigh.

"It was a big one too," she grumbled.

"You sure it wasn't just more salad?" he asked with a chuckle. She had been catching weed after weed, but she shook her head.

"It was a big one," she said stubbornly.

Her grandfather hid the grin on his face by scratching at his chin.

"You can't go through life at warp speed, Bella," he commented as she brought the rest of her line into the aluminum fishing boat.

"I know," she replied in a sort of both petulant and respectful 11-year-old.

Isabella reached over and grabbed a new worm out of the foam container filled with dirt and wiggling, fat worms. As she moved, she felt her grandfather's knowing eyes on her.

The report card they received two months ago from school had mentioned something along those lines as well. Her math teacher thought she would make less mistakes on tests if she would just slow down and check her work instead of rushing through.

Grannie had frowned at the feedback, but Grandad had chuckled knowingly.

"When you get to be my age, you learn a thing or two, honey," he said in a familiar tone.

He waited until she looked over at him and met her eyes before he continued.

"If you work hard and speed through life, you'll be very successful, Bella. I know you will. You've got a good head on your shoulders and you'll do just fine in whatever you want."

He paused and thought while the little girl waited.

"You will always have that choice. You will always have the choice to be successful in the way the world wants you to be. But don't always listen to the world, alright Bella? Being powerful and rich and working all of the time is not the way to make your soul happy, no matter what person or system tries to tell you it is. Will you promise me that you will listen to that beautiful soul of yours when you make that choice?"

Isabella recognized the serious tone in her grandfather's voice.

Little did she know that he was still coming off a heated argument with her father, an argument that had been occurring for over a decade.

She nodded solemnly in promise.

Grandad grinned at her.

"And make sure you slow down kiddo…if you don't, you'll miss things," he said, nodding at the water where she had just lost her fish. "And one day, you might realize those were the big things."

* * *

"Folks, yer looking at the Eilean Donan castle. On each side is a different loch: Loch Duich, Loch Long, and Loch Alsh. In the thirteenth century, it was a stronghold of the Clan Mackenzie and was until the early eighteenth century when the government destroyed the castle because of the Mackenzie's involvement in the first Jacobite Rebellion."

Isabella listened as the tour guide spouted more facts about the castle while the tourists half-heartedly listened, eagerly taking photos of the old building. His kilt was bright green, matching the green letters on the large passenger van that proclaimed this tour group run by "Rabbie's."

The group did not linger for more than ten minutes, enough time to take a few pictures and use the restrooms. After they departed, she breathed a slight sigh of relief, irrationally irritated by the tourists.

It was irrational.

The only reason she already knew what the tour guide was saying was because she had read it in _Rick Steven's Guide to Scotland_ not 20 minutes before.

If she were in a more introspective mood, she might have considered that she been irritated by a number of different things in the past few weeks, each of them as irrational as the next. Children on flights had never really bothered her, but the baby crying over the Atlantic on the flight over had wound her up so tight it had taken hours before her shoulders had lost the coiled hunch.

With a sigh, she tightened her jacket around her, huddling in the warmth against the winter winds. She took one last glance at the beautiful castle before turning to the car she had been driving the past few days. She went to the left side of the car instinctually but caught herself and went to the right side.

As the car blew warm air at her face, she pulled out the map and studied it carefully.

The Isle of Skye was nearby. This had undoubtedly been the first stop of the Rabbie's trip to the isle. She squinted as she looked at the distance left that she had to travel. It looked like it would take roughly an hour or so, likely more given how slow she had been driving on the frightfully narrow roads. Normally a confident driver, she found herself timid and cowering whenever a larger vehicle whizzed past her on the tight roads.

She had been in Scotland for three days.

Her flight from Newark to Glasgow had been long but uneventful. They had landed with enough daylight for her to get a rental car, find her hotel in the West End, and walk through Kelvingrove Park before the daylight was gone. With jetlag being what it was, she promptly fell asleep at 6:00pm and had not had problems with the time change since.

She briefly explored Glasgow in the morning, wandering the halls of the university on the hill and shops and restaurants on Ashton Lane, but it was not a bustling or cheery place. The air in the shops was somber and very few patrons were shopping.

After checking out the Botanic Gardens, she took to the road.

Oban had been small but lovely harbor town. It had been a sunny day and she had spent most of the afternoon sitting on the cement peer and smelling the sea. It was similarly more solemn of an atmosphere, with less and less shoppers out and about, but that was much of the world. She could hardly blame Scotland for being any different.

In fact, some of the gloom seemed to suit her. It welcomed her and demanded nothing.

However, the deeper into the Highlands she got, the less somber everything seemed.

Glencoe and Fort William had been very near to heartwarming. The quiet and the rugged nature swallowed her up and for the first time in months, she felt some semblance of peace. She felt peace in looking at the same sights that they had seen. She felt them with her, she felt their hearts in the highlands with her and the roaming stags.

She would have loved to wander a few more days in the wilderness but she had a final destination to reach.

Her evening in Fort William was spent in a pub across from her hotel. It was relatively quiet as it was a Thursday in the off season. She sat down at the bar and politely waited for the bartender's attention.

"A wee glass of wine lassie?" he asked, friendly enough as he set a coaster down in front of her. "Perhaps a nice white?"

"A glass of the Sleat 14 year please."

The bartender let out a whistle. "Not a lot of lasses will drink that strong of a dram. 'specially not from yer part of the world," he added, correctly placing her America accent. "Would ye like some ginger beer with it?"

"Just the whisky please," she said politely.

"America then?" he asked as he poured.

She nodded, used to this after a few days in the country.

"Whereabouts?"

"I grew up in a town called Allentown."

"Aye?" he asked, obviously having zero indication.

"Pennsylvania," she supplied, choosing not to mention where she had lived the past half of a decade.

Once she had the glass of hard alcohol in front of her, she took a sip and let the liquid sting her month before sliding down her throat and immediately warming her belly. Drink in hand, she examined the establishment, finding just enough décor to make it appealing to tourists but not so much that the few local patrons seemed to mind. There was one TV nearest the bar and where she expected to find a soccer match, she instead found the BBC news. They were discussing the government bailout of the banks that were very near collapsing.

The bartender noticed her brief flicker of attention to the TV and commented, "Bloody wankers."

Isabella looked over at him and whatever he saw in her gaze prompted him to continue.

"The whole lot of those bankers are cowards. They ken whit they were dain all these years. They should all be thrown in jail for stealing all our money like that."

Isabella took a sip of her drink.

"Never have met a banker who I liked. Never have met an _honest_ banker…come to think on it."

A patron approached the bar to pay his tab and thus distracted the bartender from Isabella. She overhead him continue the conversation with the man paying for his drinks, the two agreeing that the bailout was nothing short of thief.

Isabella finished her glass in a gulp.

* * *

The year is 2008 and the global financial crisis is in full-swing effect.

This story will have shorter chapters but frequent updates.

Thank you for your generous love and support for the beginning of this wee tale.


	3. Trespassing

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?" came the non-committal reply from behind the steering wheel.

"Daaaddy?" This time it was said with unsatisfied agitation.

"What? What baby?" he asked, raising his eyes to find the little girl in the back seat looking back at him with eyes that were still too big for her pudgy face.

"Are we going back to Grannie and Grandad's?" she asked.

"Yes, baby, I already told you that when we got in the car, remember?" There was impatience in his voice.

That caused her to pause.

He returned his attention to the highway in front of him. The left lane was moving far too slow for his taste and he was itching to press down further on the gas pedal. He glanced down at the speedometer. 85 in a 70. Damn.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?" he sighed, lifting his foot off the pedal in annoyance.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"What are we going back to Grannie and Grandad's?" she asked with a little furrow between her brows. "I was just there."

"Don't you want to see them?" he asked, weaving past a car in the left lane that was not going fast enough to be there.

That stumped her, and she blew out a frustrated breath. "Yes," she replied. "But why again?"

"Daddy has to work a lot for the next two weeks," he told her, not moving his eyes from the road as he settled back into the left lane.

"On wall sheet?" she asked, with a precocious eyebrow raised.

"Wall _Street_ , baby."

"That's what I said."

He sighed and tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel.

"Remember that city with the clock tower? And the castle? Right in the middle of the city?"

"No," she said with a sullen pout.

"Yes, you do, baby. London?"

While he couldn't be sure, he could vaguely discern a mumbled, "I hate London," from the back car seat. He kept his eyes on the road and chose to ignore her comment.

Her grandparents could talk to her about that kind of language.

"I'll bring you back something," he promised after seeing her still frowning in the back seat.

"Grandad says things do not mean happiness," she recited challengingly.

"Of fucking course he did…" he muttered under his breath. His father had always been more of the righteous type.

"What other things does Grandad say?" he asked, looking in the mirror at his daughter.

"That money do not mean happiness," she added.

"Does not," he corrected.

She huffed at the semantics.

"Does he tell you what _does_ mean happiness?" he asked, an edge undetectable to a child on his voice.

The particularly precious expression returned to her face.

"Love."

"Yeah?"

"He said his whisky helps too," and then as an afterthought added, "but he says I can't have that for a very long time."

* * *

The road to the Isle of Skye was just as scenic as the rest of the northern part of the country. Had she not been so concentrated on not colliding head on with a semi-truck coming the opposite direction than her on the narrow road, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the drive.

As such, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she finally pulled into the distillery parking lot. She pulled in next to a very nice looking black Mercedes and the killed the engine.

Sleat Distillery.

Ultimately, it was the reason she was here.

Here in Scotland.

But now looking at it, for some reason she felt nervous, hesitant to go inside.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched a Rabbie's van pull up next to her. A quick glance over and she could ascertain is was definitely the same group she had just seen an hour ago. It was enough motivation she needed to get out of the vehicle before their group of 8 got in front of her in line. As they piled out of the van and grouped up, she strode into the entrance of the distillery.

A small bell dinged when she entered the building and a chestnut-haired man looked up from the tall welcome desk he was standing at. He gave her a polite smile that did not meet his eyes.

"Hallo," he greeted her warmly. "Here for the tour, are ye?"

It occurred to her that she didn't actually know why she was here.

For the past week, she had simply been on autopilot.

"Sure," she answered slowly. "When does it start?"

"Oh about 20 minutes or so," he informed her in a thick Scottish accent. It was slightly easier to understand than some of the people who she had spoken with in Glasgow; she had not been convinced they were even speaking English.

"Let's do that," she agreed, pulling out her Louis Vuitton wallet that had been recently filled with British pounds.

"The States?" he asked as he rung her up.

"The States," she confirmed.

"Whereabouts?" he asked.

She grinned with a coy smile that did not meet here eyes. "The cold ones."

The other group of tourists had entered the distillery, the tour guide in his bright green kilt leading the way.

"Yer all set," he said with a smile, handing her a few pounds in change before greeting the newly arrived group.

Isabella busied herself by looking around the distillery gift shop. It had all sorts of memorabilia. There were lovely etched glasses of all sizes, all of their different whisky blends in all different shapes and sizes as well, different clothing apparel which read: Sleat Distillery in various fonts, and various books about the histories of different clans, namely the Clan MacDonald.

Looking at the familiar bottles on the shelves made her smile. Over the years the branding had not changed. It was as friendly and welcoming as it always had been. Just as she remembered growing up.

"Alright okay," the chestnut-haired man said, "Let's get on with it then!"

She stepped over to the Rabbie's group as it was just them who had turned out for the tour and listened as he began his tale. He started walking backwards and they followed.

"Hullo everyone," he greeted. "My name is Jasper and I will be showing ye around this afternoon. The biggest and heartiest of welcomes to ye all."

Isabella felt her lips curl upwards as he launched into the history of the distillery. "This distillery was founded in 1809 by Hugh and Kenneth MacDonald, great great great great grandfathers of the current owner, Edward MacDonald. It has been passed through the family for generations and the same distilling process is still used today as they used back in the olden days. Unfortunately, a fire in 1948 destroyed half of the building and the stillhouse, which we will being seeing shortly, had to be rebuilt. There's of course different theories about the fire, be it arson or extra marital affairs, but we can talk about that later. Follow me please."

The group obediently followed as Jasper pointed out several features of the distillery. They spent a lot of time in the stillhouse as Jasper explained every aspect of the distilling process that went into making their world-famous Scotch.

"The malted barley used in our production comes from Muir or Ord. Most of the stills use worm tubs instead of the modern condenser which some distilleries will use…we believe the tubs will give the fuller flavor because of the higher sugar content."

Isabella followed along with interest, thought he did lose her a few times in getting into detail about the logistics behind the distilling process.

"And ye'll notice that swan neck lye pipes. It's a feature unique tae Sleat. The loop in the pipes takes the vapor from the stills in the worm tubs so some of the alcohol already condenses before it reaches the cooler."

At one point towards the end of the tour, her bladder got the best of her and she slipped away to find the restroom. Jasper sent her back towards the lobby but told her to take a left down the hall with several doors before just reached it. He also told her "tae be quick so as not tae miss the tasting portion of the tour."

Having had more than her fair share of Scotch in her life, she grinned politely but nodded.

The hall proved not to be too difficult to find. It not only had many doors but many photographs. Photographs dating to the early 1900's showed the distillery in different stages of life, always nestled in the strangely colored green hills. The photographs got older as she neared and then subsequently passed the restrooms to the end of the hallway, where a hand sketched drawing of the building was hung, dating the middle of the 1800's. Fascinated, she examined the print.

As she looked at the details, she overheard voices and realized that she had likely passed the border the distillery meant to keep their guests within. At the end of the hallway, she heard voices, seeming to be in a heated argument regarding a business contract of sorts. After years of being a part of those conversations, it was nearly impossible not to immediately place.

The door was cracked, letting the noise travel freely into the hall.

Feeling as if she was trespassing, she spared one last stare at the drawing before turning on her heel and heading back towards the "Water Closet."

"This distillery _will_ close, whether ye like it or not!"

At that, she stopped.

Didn't breathe.

Not Sleat.

There was silence in room where that statement had just been made, followed by a quieter female response, one which she could not make out.

"I've had enough of this! Unless ye have that money, the bank will take this property and all of its contents into possession on Monday!"

It was Friday.

"Ye cannae do that!"

 _No, they couldn't._

"Oh Mr. MacDonald, ye'll find that I can. And I certainly will."

"MacLeod," the feminine voice started, a sharp edge to her voice. "Where do you possibly expect us to come up with £150,000 in a weekend?"

"That is not my concern," the one voice said sharply. "And quite frankly, I do not expect you to. At this point, this visit is merely a courtesy. I expect that this land and everything on it will be mine come Monday.

There was silence in response to that statement.

Closing her eyes and saying both a string of curses and a prayer, Isabella strode into the room.

"What if they find a business partner to provide the necessary funds by Monday?"

* * *

What if?

See you soon.


	4. American Business Partner

She had just been going to get a drink of water from the bathroom. It was a Tuesday night and for some reason, she had a hard time falling asleep on Tuesday nights. She had a spelling test every Wednesday morning that likely was to blame.

After rolling around in her twin bed, she kicked off the quilt in frustration and crept out of the bedroom to quench her thirst. She could hear her grandparent's muted voices through the door and was extra cautious to open the door slowly and quietly, so they would not hear her.

Especially since she was fairly she they were talking about her.

She had brought home a pink slip today from Mrs. Scott.

It had been the first disciplinary report she had ever brought home in school and she had been unsure how her grandparents would react.

The seating chart that had been assigned two weeks ago had placed her next to a boy named Brian. Even for a 4th grader, Brian was a cocky kid. He said things just to antagonize her ("Why do you spend so much time on your handwriting when it doesn't even look good?"), making ridiculous claims ("Mrs. Scott just likes you because your dad is rich"), spreading false rumors ("Ethan was talking all about you at our sleepover last night, I bet he has a huge crush on you"), or overall just being a nuisance to her.

And he never brushed his teeth, giving him horrible breath.

Today he had succeeded in provoking her and she had snapped at him.

"Brian, you are the most obnoxious person I have ever met! All you do is make up stuff and I know you do it just to annoy me and distract me! And you really need to brush your teeth, you absolutely stink!"

Which is something along the lines of what was written on the pink slip she had had to hand her Grannie.

Grandad had been gone, it was his night to play cards, and she told her that they would discuss it once he got home. Since she went to bed before he got home, she was off the hook for at least a day.

As soon as Isabella's bare toes hit the shag carpet in the hallway, she knew they were discussing it.

"Honestly Jane, I don't see what the big deal is."

"She can't act up like that in school."

"Why not? She has been telling us every dinner how that Brian kid is annoying her. Why shouldn't she put him in his place?"

"Well Loretta Scott thinks it is not a great show of manners."

"That's horseshit. Our Annie is one of the best-behaved kids that school has."

Isabella didn't hear her grandmother's quiet response.

"What they call a 'lack of manners,' I call spunk. And I like her like that."

Again, she had to strain to hear her response and was unable to discern anything.

"She will have to deal with people like that her whole life…people like Brian, people like her father. I would sure as hell rather she kept that fire to her than have her think that they're right. "

* * *

Four startled sets of eyes landed immediately on her as she barged into the room. She quickly assessed the room and saw that three of the conversation participants sat and stood. A young man was seated at the desk while a middle-aged man and woman stood on either side of him. On one side of the desk while a man in a suit sat alone opposite of them.

It was the lone man who spoke first. "An American business partner?" he asked with a smirk.

Isabella rose an eyebrow and did not let her shoulders drop even the fraction of an inch.

"Perhaps."

Ignoring the other three, the man who was clearly with the bank was hardly intimidated by her tone. "Well, since yer asking, if ye loan greater than £50,000 to an individual, that is considered FDI, which means fo-"

"Foreign direct investment, yes I am aware. Thank you."

At that he raised an eyebrow at her but did not lose the smirk. "And as foreign direct investment, that must be reported and cleared through the FCA. A process that will take anywhere from 3-5 business days to 4-6 weeks with the Scottish government."

Damn.

That had not been the simple fix she was hoping for.

As she thought of alternatives, she asked, "Your institution is not in the habit of granting extensions, I take it?"

With a chuckle, he looked over at the three distillery owners. "Why don't ye ask the MacDonald family about all of those extensions the Royal Bank of Scotland has granted them."

The three seemed to have gotten over their shock at her unannounced entrance into the conversation. They were now eyeing her with both suspicion and curiosity.

"Aye, that's true," the young man with chestnut hair finally said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. He had apparently gotten over the surprise of her intrusion and returned to glaring helplessly at the papers in front of him.

There were certain regulations, especially regulations about transferring money internationally which made the situation incredibly complicated. She knew she had some way of accessing the funds but given the haughty look the banker was giving her, she wondered how likely it would be.

"If an American were to transfer them this money in order to pay this debt-"

"It would be too late. We must have the funds by Monday. As I mentioned, any sum over £50,000 is considered FDI and if not done through proper channels, channels taking days if not weeks to clear, I'm afraid I would be forced to report it to the government and leave this institution at the mercy of the full penalty of the law for the infraction."

From that statement alone, Isabella surmised this was personal. Not only was this man here to take the distillery in the name of the bank, but she had to guess that he was here to take it for himself, not a buyer. Given the harsh glares he was receiving from the other Scots in the room, she figured there was no love lost between the sides.

The room fell silent for a moment, her mind racing with possibilities, all of which fell short.

"If that is all, I will see ye on Mo-"

"MacLeod," the young man said with a growl. "Even ye know those fees were bloody outrageous."

"The fees were perfectly reasonable given the status of yer business, MacDonald," he replied without trying to disguise the condescension. "Ye agreed."

"No to this I dinnae!" he disagreed vehemently, "and ye ken more than me that no bank will give me that money with this bloody recession."

MacLeod shook his head. "As I said, that is _unfortunately_ not my concern."

"What if it's his money?" she suddenly asked.

Her hearted pounded in her chest as she realized what she was suggesting. She was powerless to the desperation that had taken over her, desperation to save this distillery she had never set foot into.

"I assure ye, if ye give him the money, we will know, and I will report it to the FCA."

Isabella raised a pointed eyebrow. "Yes, but what if it is _his_?"

The woman was looking at her curiously and finally spoke. Isabella realized she had mistakenly categorized her as Scot when she was in fact English. "If Edward has access to funds and it will not require any international transfer of money, that would be sufficient for you?"

"Of course," he allowed childishly. "For now."

"Excuse us for a moment, will you MacLeod?"

Before waiting for him to answer, the woman nodded at Isabella and then exited the room, Isabella following. The woman shut the door tightly behind her and then wasted no time in turning to her.

"Who are you? And do you mean to tell me what this is about?" she asked bluntly.

"This distillery can't close," Isabella answered simply.

As she said it, she felt an unexplainable sense of conviction.

The notion that she could not let the distillery close pulled at the very core of her being. She did not have the time to examine why, but she felt such certainty that she could not let it happen.

The woman raised her eyebrows.

"It can't."

"And you have the funds to ensure that it doesn't?"

Suddenly wary, Isabella nodded.

"Why?" she asked carefully.

"It's important. It's important to me. This situation seems wrong. And I have the ability to do something."

The older woman stared at her, scrutinizing her character and credibility.

"How far are you willing to go to keep these doors open?" the woman asked in her crisp English accent.

Before Isabella could reply, could even think about the answer to the question, she continued her direct line of questioning.

"Are you honestly prepared to marry my nephew to make your money his money?"

Isabella's mouth opened, and she froze.

 _"For richer or poorer…until death us do part."_

It had been the wildest, barely legal solution she had come up with. But to hear it voiced by someone else gave her pause to the outlandish idea.

Was she?

Was she prepared?

 _Certainly not._

 _He was a stranger._

 _It was just a business transaction._

 _No one back home would know._

The feeling in her gut was uncomfortably heavy.

"I will do it to get the distillery on its feet again."

 _And not a moment longer_.

The woman, apparently the owner's aunt, stared at her for a moment, assessing her. It was neither a harsh nor a kind stare, it was simply…judging.

"Alright then."

And they were entering the office before Isabella could chase the words back into her mouth.

"Thank you, MacLeod," the aunt said, suddenly gracious, "we will see you Monday."

MacLeod was not the only one looking at her in surprise.

With a deep breath, Isabella went to join the three on their side of the desk, staring down the banker. MacLeod was slow to move and was watching Isabella's every moment. With an entirely fake warm smile to his stare, she placed her right hand on the seated man's broad shoulder, feeling the warm muscle underneath it.

To his credit –Edward was his name? - did not noticeably flinch under her unexpected touch. It was the tiniest of movements that she was sure only she had noticed.

"Know this, MacDonald, I will not be dropping this. RBS will own this property if Scottish law is broken in whatever ye are planning."

"I am not planning anything, MacLeod," Edward answered, with honesty she realized. "Carlisle will see you out."

The man who had been standing silently at this right hand nodded and proceeded to icily escort the banker out of the office and all the way out of the property.

"Auntie, whit the bloody hell are ye thinking?" he hissed, looking at his aunt as soon as the door had closed. He whipped to look at her, jerking his shoulder out from under her hand.

"If you wish to keep this distillery open, you will need a partner," she said. "And - I'm sorry, what was your name, love?"

"Isabella," she supplied.

"And Isabella can be that partner."

"Did ye no hear whit he said? That would take weeks! Weeks, we do no have."

"Not just your business partner, Edward," his aunt replied.

"Whit dae ye mean?"

In the back of her mind, she noticed that his accent was stronger than the Scottish accents she had heard in the highlands. It sounded so thick, it reminded her of the people she had encountered in Glasgow, with nearly impenetrable accents.

"What she means is: if we marry, my money is your money."

"Yer telling me, that ye have £150,000? Just at yer disposal?" he asked, a thick eyebrow raised and bright blue eyes trained on her.

"Yes."

"How?"

Isabella stared back at him.

"Is that your concern?"

"Are ye some sort a' criminal then?" he asked, amusement leaking into his tone as he eyed her.

"No, I am not a criminal."

 _Despite popular opinion_.

The two stared at each other in silence before the man, Carlisle, came back in the office.

"Esme, what are ye scheming about?"

"Isabella, this is my husband, Carlisle," Esme introduced, ignoring the stare her nephew was giving her.

"Pleasure," he said with a genuinely warm smile before turning to his wife. "Esme?"

"Look, if they marry tomorrow, Isabella will be able to get him the money, as it would not be a loan or a transfer from a private citizen to another private citizen. It would be the shared funds of a married couple."

To his credit, Carlisle did not react as if it was the craziest thing he had ever heard. "What if they get caught?"

"What?" Edward asked.

"I was reading in the paper just a few days ago, remember Esme? The government has new laws against forced marriages. If people are caught, it's up to two years in prison, ye ken?"

"This would hardly be a forced marriage."

"Do ye think MacLeod is the sort who would not think to claim that it was?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "That lad is raving to have this place for his own. He's the type to stretch a law in whatever manner best suits his interests and ye'll remember his family has connections with law officers."

Edward had stood up from his chair was standing his arms across his chest watching his aunt and uncle.

"Bella, was it? May I speak to you in private?"

Rather than bother correcting him that no one had called her Bella in years, she nodded.

Esme and Carlisle were moving out of the room before they could say anything else, leaving the potentially betrothed in silence.

"Who are ye?" he asked after a moment. "Why are ye even in Scotland?"

Isabella blinked.

"I'm…traveling."

Though he accepted this without further questioning, he continued, "And why would ye _ever_ agree to marry a stranger? Ye realize that is wild, aye?" he wondered emphatically, trying to understand and determine if she was sane. By his tone, he seemed to be questioning whether his family members were sane too. "Have ye ever even _been_ to this distillery before?"

"No," she admitted, "I have not."

"Why?" he simply asked.

"Why what?"

"Why would you possibly agree to this?" he asked, the hard lines of his face softening as he looked at her with confusion something she had not seen from him: vulnerability.

He must have been desperate, otherwise there was no way a sane person would agree to it.

Perhaps he wasn't too sane, come to think of it.

That may prove to be an issue.

"This place…this distillery…it means something to me."

Recognizing that that was all he would be getting from her, his face smoothed back into a mask.

"Well in that, we are in agreement."

* * *

apologies, I got terribly busy the past two months and had no time to post. However, I did some reworking of these story lines and I am very excited for you all read more of this.

all my love.


	5. Expedited Paperwork

"Students, I would like to once again take a moment to welcome you, the Class of 2001 to the Wharton School of Business! As the dean mentioned this morning, this was the most competitive batch of applicants our school has ever seen; you should be very proud of your accomplishment in being accepted and joining the ranks of the some of the smartest minds this country has ever seen."

Several members of the faculty who were seated in the front row of the auditorium began to clap, legions of students quickly following their lead. Isabella looked around, feeling out of place on the basis that she was not nearly as excited as everyone else seemed to be. Nevertheless, she applauded for the corporate sponsor of Wharton's "College Day."

"With that being said, Goldman Sachs is pleased to have brought with us a team of analysts today," she said, gesturing to the two dozen or so people who stood in a line near her, all wearing impeccably tailored suits. "Besides being some of the smartest people in the industry, they are all Wharton graduates who joined us at Goldman Sachs after graduation."

Another round of applause that Isabella hesitantly joined in.

What had she gotten herself into?

Besides the fact that Wharton had given her a full ride scholarship, the University of Pennsylvania had been the only school she had considered, wanting to stay within driving distance to her grandparents.

Since high school had not provided her a clear direction of what she wanted to do, despite the fact that she had been actively paying attention for a calling to hit her. She had hoped human biology would kindle a dream of being a doctor, but the class had been horribly boring. Without a clear path to follow, she did not have a good argument for her father when he insisted that Wharton was as good of place as any to help her find what she wanted to do to.

Looking around the room, she realized she was likely the most reluctant to be in the room.

"We are a Wharton family at Goldman Sachs," the woman continued with a polished smile. "I met my husband here. Wharton students make the best analysts and that is why we recruit heavily here. Truly, you are all so smart! We could not think of any brighter minds to spend this time with."

Recruiting? She hadn't even had her first day of classes.

"At this time, we are going to break into groups. Each of our analysts has been assigned a table with a number on it. Your nametags have corresponding numbers. Please be prompt in finding your assigned table. Enjoy your conversations and welcome to Wharton!"

Though Isabella had no idea what they were supposed to be conversing about, she moved swiftly to find the table in the atrium with the number 4 boldly displayed next to the Goldman Sachs logo.

The analyst at her table was a white male who looked like 14 of the other analysts. His suit was a deep navy and his hair was immaculately gelled.

His ensemble must have cost thousands of dollars.

Isabella pulled the cardigan that her grandmother bought her from the clearance section at Macy's a little tighter around her arms, feeling underdressed and wishing the cotton would form an armor against her insecurities.

The analyst who quickly introduced himself as Kevin to her and the six other students at the table was friendly enough. He told them what year he had graduated from Wharton with honors in finance and excused his jetlag. He had just gotten back from Goldman Sach's Hong Kong location.

Isabella was familiar with that flight route, knowing that her father had flown it often.

After telling them about his time at Wharton and how he thought they were the best years of his life until he started working on Wall Street and everything just kept getting better and better, he asked them to tell him their names and what they were thinking about majoring in.

Two boys introduced themselves, exuding confidence as they talked about the Wall Street pedigree they were coming from, explaining where their parents worked. Isabella stared blankly as they spoke, feeling her heart bounding unreasonably in her chest.

"And what about you?" Kevin asked, looking at Isabella.

"My name is Isabella Swan," she answered and then quickly said, "and I'm thinking about studying marketing."

Kevin's smile turned into a full smirk.

"So you are Charles Swan's daughter!"

Isabella smiled nervously.

"And here I am getting my hands on your first," he laughed with delight.

Isabella tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan but smiled politely.

"Don't do marketing," he told her seriously. "There are no jobs in it and it's a waste of a Wharton degree. You're smart enough to make it on Wall Street, don't waste your talents anywhere else."

Isabella felt the knitted material start to fray under her fingers pulling sharply at the cardigan.

"You are the catch of this recruiting class, did you know that? Your father has mentioned that you might not be interested in studying finance…told the whole company that anyone who could change your mind and get you to join the family business would be heavily rewarded," he told her with a laugh, pulling a card out of his suit pocket.

"Hang onto this, Swan," he said, handing her the business card. "We'll get you on Wall Street whether you like it or not."

* * *

"Edward, have ye gone mad?"

Isabella watched warily as Edward's female, albeit younger, twin hollered at him in the empty inn.

"Alice, stop-" he said firmly.

"Marrying a women ye've never even met? Tomorrow?" she barked a laugh. "Yer bum's oot the windae!"

At her confused look, Carlisle leaned over and muttered a translation. "That means he's talking rubbish."

She offered him an unconvincing smile. "Thank you."

"Alice, I'm no daft," he replied sharply.

"Ye ken that do ye?" she asked sarcastically. "Ye absolute bawbag!"

"They have thicker accents than you do," Isabella commented under her breath as the siblings went back and forth to each other.

"Aye," Carlisle agreed. "They grew up in Glasgow. Learned Glaswegian as weans. From their maw."

"Which is distinctly more difficult to understand," she muttered.

Carlisle grinned. "Ah, ye can only really hear it when they're emotional," he then added conspiringly, "or drunk."

"I suppose now would qualify."

"Aye," Carlisle agreed as Alice gave a huge huff before suddenly turning to Isabella.

She must have been only a few years younger than her brother, but they looked strikingly similar. They had straight noses, almond shaped blue eyes, and strong jaw lines. While Edward's hair was more of a chestnut color with hints of auburn, her hair was a bright ginger. She had curls while his was straight, but they really did look very similar.

"I am sorry for that," she apologized, "But it is no every day mae favorite brother announces his marriage to a stranger with less than 24 hours' notice."

Again, Isabella gave an unconvincing smile. "Understandable, of course."

"Just why are ye willing to do this?"

"Alice," Esme chastised.

"It's a fair question!" she defended. "I ken ye have money, but why go this far?"

For a moment, Isabella was at a loss. She couldn't explain the instinct that she felt to protect the distillery, to protect Sleat Scotch. She couldn't explain it because truthfully, she did not completely understand it herself.

But she felt it.

And it was the first time she had felt something so strong in a long time.

She could not let go.

Not this time.

"It's a wonderful business opportunity," Isabella replied honestly. "Albeit unorthodox."

"But to marry him?" she pressed.

"Alice-"

"Do you have a different suggestion that will allow me to get Sleat that money?" Isabella asked crisply, "if I had arrived on Monday or even last month, perhaps we would have a chance to do this properly but since it's Friday going through the government will not work. I have wracked my brain, and given the Scottish rules and regulations that I am familiar with, and the timeline we are working with, I have come up with nothing beyond this deal, and as I said, I realize it is an unorthodox way of doing business. However, if you have a different idea, please speak up."

Now it was Alice's turn to be at a loss.

Everyone in the room was silent before Alice finally cracked a reluctant grin.

"I better call Emmett and tell him to get his bum up from Glasgow," she said with an eye roll. "He'll want to be there for his only brother's first wedding I imagine."

So, it was more than just the two MacDonald siblings.

She vaguely wondered if the latest edition would be just as difficult to understand.

They were at the Isles Inn, the establishment owned by Esme in Portree, a few miles away from the distillery. It was a cozy place, with the main floor being a mix between restaurant and bar. There were rooms for rent upstairs, which she assured her were full at the height of tourist season in the summer, but less so with the colder November weather.

It was an odd time of day, not quite dinner, but nearly dark outside, and as such, no one was in the building expect one of Esme's employees who was presently making them an early dinner. They settled down at one of the low wooden tables in front of the roaring fire. Above the fire place was a brass mirror and two framed portraits.

"Charles Stewart," Edward informed her casually, seeing her eyes linger on it.

"The Bonnie Prince," she agreed dryly.

That caused him to raise an eyebrow at her. "Aye," he agreed, clearly not expecting her Scottish history knowledge.

"And that is…?"

"Fiona MacDonald," he told her.

"Ah," Isabella said with her lips curling slight upward. "Relative of yours?"

He smirked. "Distantly."

"Alright," Esme said, calling the meeting of sorts to order. Jasper, her tour guide and apparently Esme and Carlisle's son, joined them at the table. "The details. Before we go any further, Bella, I do apologize but I must ask…you are _certain_ you will be able to go into a bank when it opens on Monday and get a check for over…what $200,000 by my guess in American dollars?"

"The bloody finance bastards will no make it easy on you," Jasper commented in a growl. "Wankers."

"Jasper," Esme said softly, addressing her son.

"It's true!" he argued bitterly. "They'd rather see ye lose everything ye own and take it for themselves and sell off the wee pieces. They don't want people like us to make any money."

Carlisle muttered something in agreement to the sentiment. Edward nodded in a reluctant concurrence.

"There is a Barclays branch somewhere in Scotland?" she asked, addressing Esme.

"Aye, in Glasgow," Edward answered. "I used to walk by it on my way to school."

"I will need to go there and request them to write a check. Yes, I do have those funds in that account which will allow me to access them internationally."

It was clear each of them was curious why a relatively young woman such as herself would have access to such a large sum of money, especially in the midst of a global recession.

Curious and suspicious.

But she could see each of them was mustering politeness and would not pry further.

"Don't ye want to see our books?" Jasper finally asked. "What if Sleat is a bloody terrible investment?"

"Ye numpty," Edward muttered in a growl.

"What?" he asked. "If she's going to give you that much money, I bet she's going to want it back eventually. How's she to know if that's a possibility?"

All eyes were once again on hers.

She opened her mouth, but Esme's staff, also named Fiona, appeared with several plates of food in her hands and began to set them down in front of them. Isabella's lunch had consistent of a granola bar while driving and her stomach rumbled at the smell of the food. It was fish and chips, and it looks greasy and delicious.

"I have some experience in business," she said vaguely while they were somewhat distracted with putting vinegar on their chips. "I will look at the books as soon as RBS gets the check and we can make a plan from there."

"Ye want to be his business partner then?" Carlisle finally asked. "Truly?"

"For the time being, yes."

Beside her, Edward was intently studying his dinner.

"Don't ye have a job in America?" Carlisle asked curiously. "How long can ye even stay in Scotland?"

At that, Isabella bit her lip and hesitated.

"I have some flexibility," she finally answered.

Esme was the one who was the most willing to accept this answer.

"And you are sure the papers went through with Scott?" she asked, turning her attention to her husband with a worried gaze.

Carlisle scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "Aye, it went fine."

"Fine as it could be asking someone to commit forgery?" Jasper teased.

Isabella heard a swift thud, followed by Jasper's prompt, "Feck!"

"It's no forgery," Carlisle said, glaring at his son while the latter rubbed at his bruised calf. "It's…expedited paperwork."

Esme noticed Isabella's raised eyebrows at the exchange and told her, "Marriages in the whole of the UK are subject to submitting your intent to marry and in Scotland 21 days is required," she explained. "And it's a law, not a suggestion."

Though she kept her face neutral, internally she winced. She knew British laws regarding the financial industry but wasn't as up to date on the rules regarding matrimony.

"I have known Scott since we were weans," Carlisle explained. "He's always been a good friend to yer da and I," he said, nodding at Edward.

For his part, Edward said nothing about their precarious flirtation with the law. He was staring intently up at one Fiona MacDonald. She couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking.

"Expedited paperwork. Aye, got it."

This time it was Esme who thumped her son in the back of the head.

"Well, Emmett is coming but no without a few questions," Alice informed them, coming back into the room and sitting down. "Said he'd bring the pipes with him to make it a proper Scottish wedding. Well proper enough, given the wee fact that no one's got any money to pay for it."

An uncomfortable silence fell heavily around the group, Carlisle blowing out a long sigh and meeting his wife's stare. When no one replied to Alice, she added, "It has to be convincing, does it no?"

"If we don't want anyone in jail, right Da?" Jasper said with a laugh, jumping at the chance to move the conversation forward. He had heard his father's latest readings on the UK cracking down on illegitimate marriages to bring international brides into the country and was hardly hiding his entertainment.

Edward remained silent at the prospect of doing time in jail.

Isabella eyed Edward's cousin critically.

At least someone was finding this situation entertaining.

The more they spoke, the more Isabella realized they were playing with fire in the form of Scottish law. If she was being honest, she _should_ have just walked out of the pub, got into her rental car, and headed on her way.

Esme, still looking tight lipped at Alice's comment about the lack of funds, replied, "We will figure something out."

"Awright," Carlisle said gruffly, "Enough of ye." He shot his son a sharp glance. "Let's get on with it."

"He's right," Esme said, and then looked over at Alice. "We have some phone calls to make, love."

Truth be told, the rest of the evening passed in a bit of a blur, with Isabella mostly wondering what the absolute hell had been going through her mind. As Esme and Alice called all of the inhabitants on the Isle of Skye and sent Edward, Jasper, and Carlisle on errands to and fro, Isabella contemplated that she really should muster up an ounce of sanity and stop the madness and get into the damn rental car.

But she couldn't.

It had nothing to do with Edward, she thought to herself as he spoke with Esme and Fiona about transforming the inn into a reception space. He was a handsome enough young man, but that was an afterthought, not the reason driving her decision. He seemed to be level headed enough and other than his first initial outburst, he appeared as determined as her to do this to save his business and his family legacy.

By the time the group had regrouped at the inn –which had a fair number of patrons now eating and drinking – most of the details had managed to be worked out. They had spoken with the minister of the Church of England, found a pianist, ordered plenty of food to be served, confirmed with Scott that the papers would hold up, gone to the distillery to stock of up on Scotch for their guests, and then actually invited guests.

Esme and Alice were natural born story tellers and managed to weave a beautiful story about a young couple, mad for each other who could not wait another day to be married, having made it their 21 days. Even to Isabella, the love-struck protagonist of the story, it sounded convincing. Alice's rendition got even more dramatic and theatrical as she finished her third cider of the evening.

Isabella met two more of Edward's cousins who worked at the distillery, Robert and Ian. They were boisterous but she found herself hesitantly smiling at their loudness as they teased Edward about a wedding.

"Springin' it on us so we cannae give ye a proper stag party?" Robert accused. Edward grinned and threw an elbow towards his ribs. "Denying yer kin their birthright?"

"It may not be proper but we are gettin' plastered tonight!" Ian followed, raising the pint of beer he had found moments after walking through the door.

Esme cleared her throat.

"Once he's done with the preparations of course, Auntie," Ian demurred.

Esme rolled her eyes.

"We are nearly finished with you for the evening. Edward, you have your formal wear here yes? It's not in Glasgow or anywhere else?"

Edward nodded.

"Wait," Alice interrupted before Esme could continue. "What is she going to wear?"

Esme's mouth popped open in disbelief that she had overlooked that detail. "Bollocks," she muttered. "You're right, Alice. Do you have anything formal, love?" she asked Isabella. "Don't suppose you do."

"No, I'm sorry," Isabella said apologetically.

"I don't know if there's time to get to a bridal shop and back tomorrow morning." Esme frowned. "Perhaps I can ask Mrs. Brown if we could use her daughter's wedding dress? The girl left him at the alter but I imagine she still has the dress?"

"It won't be her size," Alice argued, looking at Isabella's frame. "Brown is barely 5 feet tall."

"Perhaps if we hem-"

"What about Maw's dress?"

All of the women looked over at Edward, who had been following along the conversation with an intense stare. At their attention, he looked at his aunt. "Maw always said it was timeless, did she no?"

"Aye," Alice agreed quietly. "But…"

"It would fit her," Edward said firmly.

Isabella wanted to protest, to say that it was fine and she did not have to wear their mother's wedding dress, especially when it was clear that their mother was no longer around. But at Edward's intent stare, she stayed quiet.

"Yes, it would." Esme finally agreed. "Your mum was right. It is still a very beautiful dress."

"I'll get it from storage," Alice said quietly. "It will probably need a wee bit of hemming."

Edward pulled his sister into a warm, one armed hug and whispered something against her lovely hair. She looked up at him with a fond smile that he returned. Isabella felt like an unwelcomed observer and immediately lowered her eyes from the touching moment.

"Thank you, love," Esme said softly.

"That sounds like this party is ready to move into a stag party!" Robert cheered, seeing they had reached a conclusion. There were several hollers of agreement from his other cousins and some clapping from Carlisle. Edward broke into a shy smile as they shook his shoulders.

"Aye, awright awright okay," he assented. "Let me say goodnight to…to my bride before we go."

General masculine cheers followed that statement. It seemed that they were either trying to make it as convincing of a farce as possible or the Scots loved a good celebration and they were taking every advantage to make it a proper wedding.

Isabella raised an eyebrow but took his hand when he held it out to her and led her out of the main bar area and down a separate hallway. He dropped her hand and turned to her.

"Are ye sure about this?" he asked without ceremony. "Truly?"

It was easier to be sure about something when you weren't constantly being asked if you were sure, she noted.

"I am very much considering this an unconventional business transaction," she informed him.

When he didn't look convinced, she sighed and asked, "Are you a criminal? Or a horrible person? Do you have any horrendous traits that I should know about? Not actually planning to save the distillery but do you intend to let it fall into ruins?"

His lips quirked into a smirk finally. "No, no horrendous per say and no ruins I hope. I just dinnae want to force ye into something," he said seriously before adding, "especially something as…as bizarre as this."

Isabella shook her head. If anything, it was her who was forcing him into an arranged marriage for show, for the sole purpose of skirting around government regulation.

"I cannot think of another way to keep the distillery open."

"Aye," he agreed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the worn floor boards. "And ye do know that I will do everything I can to get ye the money back someday, but with the economy the way it is now, well…I am sorry that I cannae make any promises to ye. I dinnae ken about your financial status, but that's no wee bit of money and I want ye to be sure about what yer doing and know the risks."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Aye," he said again, dropping his hand from his neck and looking at her. "I dinnae think I would like if Alice went to a different country and married a stranger."

"Lucky for you, I have no older brother you have to answer to."

"Aye," he said absentmindedly before asking suddenly. "Have ye ever been in love?"

That startled Isabella it but she did not let her face show it.

"Have you?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice.

Edward eyed her. "Fair enough," he said, giving nothing away.

"While this marriage isn't going to be built on love, I do respect you and respect your dedication to keeping the distillery open," she said.

At that, he nodded in agreement. "And while I don't understand yer own reasoning, I do respect yer bravery. And respect is no a bad thing to start a marriage on, aye?"

At that Isabella's own lips turned upwards slightly. "Aye."

* * *

next, we've caught up with the prologue and moved on to the wedding reception.

life is a wee bit hectic at the moment and I am still healing from a concussion that I ended up with a few months ago but rest assured, this tale will not be abandoned and will be a lot of fun.

all my love.


	6. Loch Lomond

At some point during Isabella's second semester at Wharton, her economics professor was handing back their graded mid-terms. After handing Isabella's back to her, he said, "Please remain after class, Swan."

With a frown, Isabella had examined the test in front of her, hurriedly flipping to the last page to see what grade she had received. 91.2%. With the curve, that would round up to an A. She felt her shoulders relax at the sign of a job well done.

Next to her, Sandy whispered, "What does he want?"

Isabella shrugged.

"Want me to wait for you?" she offered as the rest of the class stood up and started to laboriously sling on their backpacks.

Isabella shook her head in dismissal as she shrugged her own backpack over her shoulder. "I'll see you later."

With mild wariness, Isabella descended the classroom stairs, shifting past the flow of students going the other way until she had reached Professor Wembley's desk. While Isabella wasn't terrible interested in his subject, he was a nice man who did well enough with his lectures. He knew the names of every one of his students without asking or having them place name tents on their desks, something Isabella had noticed and respected.

"How's it going, Isabella?" he asked her with a smile.

"Oh it's going. Ready for spring break," she replied.

"Do you have any plans?" he inquired.

"I'm going to hang out with my grandparents for the week," she said, excited for the time away from the university at her childhood home.

"That will be relaxing," he said warmly.

Isabella nodded but did not further reply.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about your test," he said, nodding to the papers in her hand. "You did really well on it."

"Thanks," she said.

"That's two tests now where you've earned one of the top scores," he told her. "That's really impressive Isabella."

Not having realized what the other scores had been from her peers, she felt her cheeks warm at the praise. "Thank you," she said again.

"Have you thought about going into finance?" he wondered.

Immediately, Isabella felt her guard go up.

It was not an uncommon thing for her. From the first day of school, she had had people ask if she planned to follow her father's footsteps and then encourage her to do so once she told them it was not in her plans. Recruiters, academic advisors, peers in student group projects, resident advisors, and other professors had all told her she was insane not to want to be on Wall Street.

Seeing this, Professor Wembley continued in his warm tone of voice, "You've got a real talent for it, Isabella. There are students in this class who would kill for those scores."

At then, Isabella's shoulder loosened a bit.

"You're a very smart young woman, you could do it. Not a lot of people have what it takes, but you do," he told her with an intent certainty. "And there's so many different things you can do with finance. You can make a difference in people's lives."

Isabella nodded uncertainly.

"Just promise me you'll think about, okay?"

* * *

"Hallo everyone! Hallo, yes it's that part of the evening where I make an arse out of my brother and myself…Oi! Listen up!"

The small crowd of people all crammed into the Isles Inn quieted down as Edward's brother spoke into the microphone, his accent as thick as both of his siblings. Isabella and Edward turned to look in his direction along with everyone else. Her hand was resting in Edward's large warm hand, visibly resting on the table for all of their guests to see.

"Right so I have to go to the water closet, so I will keep this brief," he began to the chuckles of the guests. He was dressed in an identical kilt and formal wear as his brother. While Alice and Edward looked so similar, he was leaner, with dark brown hair, despite having the identical blue eyes.

"For those of ye who do not know me-" Isabella kept a straight face. "I am Emmett, Edward's best brother and self-appointed best man. It is an honor to be up with ye all here today, celebrating Edward and Bella."

"Let me tell you all a wee bit about my relationship with Edward," he began.

"We met in the 80's," he deadpanned as everyone laughed. "Back in a simpler time. As weans, there was a bit of a childhood rivalry which was exacerbated by the fact that Edward looked like a bodybuilder and I was mistaken often for Fiona McDonald. Regularly," he added to chuckles. "Of course, my favorite way of compensating for my lack of size was giving him hard objects, such as marbles or rocks, and then standing by windows or glass and proceeding to make him mad. Maw loved how that one ended up."

As everyone else laughed, Edward gave a chuckle but she noticed the slight flush that rose on his neck at the childhood memory.

"Edward has a number of exceptional qualities, and I do mean that seriously and with no even a wee hint of inferiority complex," he said teasingly. "It's no like I had to listen to Ma tell us all what a good wean ye were, and how good ye were at eating, sleeping, and pissing when ye was a lad." From off the side, Alice raised the cider she was drinking and called, "Hear hear!" in agreement.

"It was no hard to be yer brother, not in slightest," he teased, raising his glass of whisky in Alice's direction. "Jokes aside, you always did make Da and Maw so proud. If they could be here today, they would certainly be telling ye, in a mess of tears the both of them, how proud of the hardworking and brave man ye are."

Isabella hadn't realized she had squeezed his hand until she felt a tentative squeeze in response.

"A few more words on Edward's qualities. He's hardworking – the whisky yer all drinking is proof enough of that – and he's never been afraid of anything, be it standing up to the school bully or riding the horse which was definitely not ready to be broken in." Emmett looked up from his notes and grinned over in their direction. "Ask me about that one later, Bella," he winked.

Isabella grinned in an expected show of amusement.

"He's also got a truly tremendous sense of compassion – he always has been taking care of others, no matter who it is, he will always be there to care and protect people who are important to him. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to be included in that, and let me tell ye, that is no small thing. His smarts – he maintained an all A-average in school and was still cool, damn him. His sense of humor – oh no, never mind, that was a typo." At those chuckles, Emmett grinned and waited for them to die down before he continued seriously. "There was and always is a reason to admire to Edward, in whatever he does."

Isabella gave a faint smile as she learned about her new husband through the eyes of someone who had known him the longest. She felt comforted to have the reference to his character from his brother, though she had never been inclined to suspect he was not an honorable man.

"Right, as I said, the loo is calling my name, but before I go, I want to propose a toast to my brother and his new bride," he said, raising his glass and waiting for the rest of the room to follow suit. "May God curse any fool that is daft enough to come against the two of ye. May the tough times be few and far between and may the whisky never run dry. Lang may yer lum reek! To Edward and Bella! Slainte!"

"Slainte!

Edward leaned over and kissed her cheek in a seemingly tender moment before standing up and going to hug his brother. Isabella followed suit and hugged Edward's bagpiping brother. He had been responsible for the beautiful bagpipes during the ceremony, the sound of which had stilled up such memories of fondness that she had yet to feel dissipate.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Aye," was all he said, though he did hug her and place a kiss on the top of her head. "Aye," he repeated with a brief nod and stare, pulling away from her.

Edward waited until Isabella had got situated in her chair before he sat down once again. His aunt, Esme, came up to the front of the room, standing on Isabella's side of the small table.

"Well," she said with a bit of a laugh, "While I hardly expect to adequately follow such beautiful words, I too have to use the loo and will be endeavor to be brief."

Isabella found herself smiling at the English woman and when she felt Edward take her hand again, she briefly flashed him that smile. She had turned her head back to his aunt before she could see the grin he flashed her in return.

"In the interest of giving Edward a brief reprieve and saving Alice and Emmett the shame of confirming that Edward was without a doubt the absolute best baby of the three of you, I want to tell you all about the young woman who we are welcoming into the MacDonald family today," Esme smiled at a surprised Isabella. "While I have not known her for very long, I know her to be just as brave as and hardworking as Edward."

Esme continued, "Having watched a few children of my own turn into adults, I can only imagine that as a child she was as fearless and precocious as she was caring and kind. As an adult, she is a woman of grace and strength and a worthy partner of the man I have also been proud to watch turn into an adult."

Esme turned fully to them. "I do not know what the future holds for the two of you. I do know that rain will come – we are in Scotland after all. You will certainly have challenges and hard times, I am sorry to tell you. But the two of you know that through the most difficult times, you learn the most about yourself and about each other. There is beauty and happiness in your future, and we could not be more excited to see the relationship you have built continue to grow. We wish you all the happiness this world has to offer," she finished with a smile before adding, "Oh and Isabella? From one non-Scot to the other…good luck. You might need it."

The room laughed and then clapped as Esme hugged both her nephew and Isabella. While she had embellished a few details, it had appeared heartfelt and the crowd was pleased. What's more, Isabella had been content and flattered to hear her words, embellished as they may have been.

The newlyweds had yet to have a moment to themselves.

After they had walked down the aisle as man and wife, they had been surrounded by Edward's family and friends. It seemed all of the residents of the Isle of Skye had turned out to celebrate their nuptials, despite the short notice. Many of them had questions and teasing accusations aimed at Edward for keeping his bride hidden from them.

For the most part, Edward gave them a charming smile and laugh, followed by a hearty handshake and that seemed to satisfy them. Once Isabella had given up hope of remembering the bagpipe song that she had walked down the aisle to was, she smiled warmly at the strangers and tried to follow Edward's lead in being charming without saying much. They had come to a silent but mutual agreement that the least was said about their union, the best.

They had also silently come to accords on the necessity of touching.

To an untrained eye the touches they exchanged were entirely expected of a newly married couple. He had his hand resting on the small of her back and she would loop her hand through his arm – though if she was being honest, that was more to keep herself from getting lost in the shuffle of highlanders. A few times throughout the afternoon, he had placed a kiss on her cheek or on her head.

Every time he touched her, however, there was a split second of hesitance. He moved confidently but before he made contact with her, he hesitated for just a moment. She wasn't sure if that miniscule pause was nerves and uncertainty or if it was almost an apologetic show of respect, as if he wanted her to know that he did not mean to take any liberties with her body. She filed the thought away for future consideration.

Once they stacked enough chairs and put away enough tables in the inn, the music started. Edward and Isabella shared a brief first dance to a lovely Scottish song while everyone looked on in anticipation.

"Why is everyone so excited?" Isabella asked quietly, keeping a slight smile plastered on her face.

Edward hummed as he was pulled from thought, swaying them back and forth. "Hmm?" he looked around and then grinned. "Oh aye, they love a ceilidh."

"A ceilidh?" Isabella asked, repeating the unfamiliar word as he had said it: kay-lee.

"I suppose ye dinae ken," he shook his head. "It's a dance. Sort of like how ye Americans square dance."

"I square dance?" she asked dubiously.

"Aye ye do."

"We do?"

"So I'm told."

Isabella could not help but laugh at the ridiculous statement.

"Ye'll be fine," he assured her with a chuckle. "Just stay on yer toes and follow me. And try not to get dizzy."

Isabella soon found that staying on your toes and following him was a tall order. It was indeed somewhat similar to American square dancing and polkas that she had seen danced at weddings. It was a lot of spinning and twirling and after the first song of Edward trying to teach her, she decided she was somewhat hopeless at it, but couldn't seem to be able to stop laughing.

The spirit of the guests as they swung around, linked arms, clapped, stomped, and hopped, was contagious and she found that even though she couldn't keep up with the lively dance, she was enjoying it.

The furrow in Edward's brow as he tried to include her in the dances at their wedding smoothed out as he realized she was not having a horrible experience. He was a patient teacher, though he seemed to be growing amused as he realized the lack of musical inclination his new bride had.

"Link arms, aye now we spin, and now ye grab his arm – no, no his arm, _his_ arm! Aye now spin-" he broke off her instructions as she giggled, having grabbed Robert's arm instead of Donald's and definitely done so off the beat.

"Back over there lass," Robert called, twirling her back over to Edward who clapped with the beat.

And then everyone started to clap with the beat.

Edward took her hands and laughed, "Here we go!" before she could even clap. He led her in between the clapping lines of people, all the way to the end in a side skip before leaping gracefully back to the other side while she tried not to trip. Luckily, he was sure footed enough that even when she stumbled, he held her up.

After several dances, she needed to excuse herself to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding from the unexpected exertion, and she gratefully took the glass of cider that Emmett handed her at the bar.

"Yer a natural," he complimented with a smirk.

Isabella let out a bark of laughter before she could help herself, making Emmett grin. "Oh perhaps no," he amended. "But ye've got spirit, I'll give ye that."

With a small grin, she lifted the cool cider to her lips and drank as if it were water.

"Ye might just need that with my brother," Emmett added, almost to himself.

Isabella wasn't entirely sure what to say and hedged a safe, "Hm?"

Emmett looked at her straight on then and she felt the ruse of what was going on around them at full force. "I ken this is no real marriage, and I ken ye have yer reasons as much as he has his," he said with a low voice. "And I cannae tell yet but the two of ye may actually need each other, and I dinae ken what that means in the long term yet, but in this moment, I ken that ye need each other."

At a loss for words, she lifted the cider to her lips and took a large gulp.

"Each other and plenty of good alcohol," he added with a chuckle.

Isabella swallowed and then held her glass up for her new brother-in-law to cheers with.

"A lass who can hold 'er liquor is a blessing and a curse to any man," he said with a chuckle before downing his pint of beer. He then held out his hand to her. "Come on, sis, I'll show ye how to strip that willow. Edward was always rubbish at it."

Isabella downed her glass and looked at his hand dubiously. "First lady, second man, right hand and so forth. It's simple, come on!"

Throughout the evening, she learned dozens of different dances. Emmett actually proved to be a wonderful instructor, while Edward obliged every single middle-aged woman with a dance of their own. All of her partners throughout the evening, including Esme and Alice, were excellent dancers and did a wonderful job of leading her so that it looked like she was doing a movement that even somewhat resembled the dance.

She could feel herself getting exhausted, but she didn't feel tired. She couldn't help but feel the drunken happiness that all of their guests felt, it demanded to be felt and experienced with them.

After so long without such genuine excitement, she truly could not form any resistance.

She could not tell how much time had passed as she whirled around to the sound of the accordion and fiddle, occasionally stopping for a cider or whisky, depending on who was handing it to her. She felt her cheeks rosy from drink but decided she was not alone in that appearance as half of the room shared that alcohol induced trait.

"Alright, my wife informs me that it is time for this party to end. But before we go, let's send Edward and Bella out in style." Isabella looked over at Carlisle who had found a microphone while everyone else in the room moved around them. She was confused about their anticipation and searched the room for Edward to clarify for her. "That's right folks, last song of the night! Grab those hands and start swinging yer arms back and forward!"

Edward appeared at her side as the strands of the bagpipes came over the speakers. Everyone in the room joined hands and spread into a wide circle around her and Edward.

Her new husband held out his hand with a grin. "This is one is no complicated," he promised.

Isabella pursed her lips to fight a grin, not entirely believing him but taking his hand nevertheless. He pulled her close and began to gently sway them back and forth as the bagpipes continued and the singer started.

" _By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes…"_

Isabella started upon hearing the familiar words.

"Where the sun shines bright…on Loch Lomond…" she sang, uncharacteristically theatrical owing to the alcohol, the words coming back to her as if she was on a bicycle for the first time in years.

Edward grinned at her.

"Ye'll know this song then?" he asked as the circle swayed in and out gently around them, pulsing like waves lazily crashing against the beach.

"I grew up listening to this," she replied, not even realizing that she was revealing the first real part of herself, the first glimpse into her life that he could truly see.

But he realized.

"Aye," he agreed, pulling her just a little bit closer.

Alice had ended up between her brother Emmett and cousin Donald as the circle closed in around the new couple, she got squished but was still being tugged along, laughing loudly as she tried to survive the tugging. Isabella grinned as she watched it. Everyone around them was smiling and laughing as they moved lazily, sated with drink.

The singing faded and the drumbeat started, making everyone clap with the staccato beats, save Edward and Isabella who continued to dance in the middle.

"Are ye ready?" Carlisle called out over the clapping.

"For wha-"

Isabella wasn't able to finish her thought as everyone in the circle around them started bouncing up and down as the circle moved in and out around them. Edward had both of her hands in his and was jumping with them, laughing as he sang along with the crowd to the words.

"Ho, ho mo leannan, ho mo leannan bhiodheach."

All of the ciders she had had left her slightly lightheaded and powerless to the giggles as she bounced with everyone else. Had they been on the second level of the establishment, she would have been worried about the floor caving in from the movement.

"Ho, ho mo leannan, ho mo leannan bhiodheach," Edward continued to sing as the rest of the dancers sang the more familiar chorus of the song. "You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye. Where me and my true love, will never meet again, on the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."

The song repeated as the clapping and bouncing changed with it until the dancers and the song started to slow down until no one was bouncing. Her husband swept her into his arms and much to her surprise, lifted her off her feet and spun her around to the cheers of their happy and intoxicated guests.

* * *

Still here, fear not. I have been traveling before starting a new job and that included two beautiful weeks in the Scottish Highlands, including the Isle of Skye (and the Isles Inn itself).

During my travels I was able to map out and finish the rest of this story. So fear not everyone, we will see this through to the end.

All the love.


	7. Caledonia

Tense holidays with her family was a norm for Isabella.

Throughout her childhood, for most major holidays of the year her father was traveling. Between Goldman Sach's offices in Hong Kong, Sydney, and London, he was rarely able to make the trip to his hometown to celebrate with his parents and daughter.

For the most part, that was fine with Isabella. She missed her father, of course, but from her observations of her friends and how they interacted with their parents, he was more of a flaky uncle at many points in her life. And when he was able to make a holiday, him and his father would get into arguments.

Now a freshman in college, Isabella was more aware of her grandfather's borderline animosity towards his son than she ever had been. When she was younger, he had done a much better job at hiding his thinly veiled comments and occasionally snide remarks. Now that she was older and her father wanted to be more involved in her life, Grandad had lost his filter.

Isabella had hid in the kitchen with Grannie, making a pumpkin pie and making the mashed potatoes. She was nursing a can of Pepsi and wishing it was the glass of red wine that her grandmother was drinking, wanting a reprieve from the tension. Her grandparents had never shown any indication they were willing to bend on the serving of alcohol to minors, so she didn't push it.

The dinner itself had been nice.

Nice enough anyway.

Talk seemed to revolve around Isabella, on her classes the previous semester and what classes she would be taking in the spring. They asked about her roommate and chatted about the dorms and meal plans.

The only dicey moment was when her grandfather asked, "Now, are you planning to stay in business or are you going to explore other majors?"

Isabella had opened her mouth to reply but had never gotten the chance.

"I don't see what could provide her a more stable career than Wharton," her father stiffly replied.

The father and son exchanged heated stares before Grannie launched into a story about the new neighbors that had moved in.

Later, when Grannie had gone to take the leftover potatoes to the downstairs freezer, leaving Isabella towel trying one of the large pots, she overheard her father and grandfather arguing in the living room.

"… you swore you would never throw it in my face! We agreed it was best for her you – you insisted!"

"And raising her was a huge joy for your mother and me, Charles. She is a bright kid and if…"

Isabella strained to hear the rest of Grandad's words but he had lowered his voice. She realized her whole body was leaning in that direction, trying to decipher what they were saying. She heard her father's usually calm voice become even agitated with his father.

"I'm not pushing her into anything that isn't good for her! Sometimes pushing is okay. Sometimes ambition is a good thing. If you really loved her you would support…"

That evoked a passionate response from Grandad.

"I will support her and I will love her just as I have loved and supported you through every decision you have made that I don't agree with but you must know you are making a mistake with her. Let her figure it out. Wall Street will take that bright and kind girl and destroy her."

"Oh bullshit! She can't stay a little girl forever. She has to grow up at some point!"

"Try harder to let her figure it out."

Isabella didn't move a muscle.

"Maybe this is me trying with her!" her dad exclaimed in exasperation. "Did you ever consider that? Did you consider that I may not be the world's worst father if I had one thing in common with her? You two raised her and have given her everything she needed – did it ever occur to you that I can give her something too?"

"Did it occur to you that it might not be what she needs?"

~O~

Isabella's rental car was waiting for them outside of the inn after they were shooed out of the doors by the merry guests. Someone had hung a "Just Married" banner on the back of it and people cheered as they walked to it. Isabella walked to the left side of the vehicle out of habit and then laughed when she realized the steering wheel was not on that side.

Later, she would consider the fact that in pretending to be happy on the day of her fake wedding, she had unwittingly given herself permission to be that very thing.

"That's not going to work," she muttered.

"No, it's no," Edward agreed with a chuckle, opening the door for her. "I dinae suppose ye can drive."

"And you can?" she challenged.

"Aye," he replied with a smirk. "A few whiskies dinae bother me."

"I suppose in your line of business that is a benefit," she agreed dryly, getting into the car while he chuckled and then shut the door for her. She waved out the door to Alice, who was properly plastered and leaning heavily on her brother, Emmet.

Edward got in the driver's seat and turned on the unfamiliar car. Upon hearing some rambunctious shouts from Robert and Ian, he turned and waved. Robert was giving him a big thumbs up while Ian made a provocative gesture. At that, Edward dropped his hand and rolled his eyes, pulling the car forward.

And then they were alone for the first time all day.

Isabella was suddenly very aware of how heavy her head felt while still feeling condemningly light.

"Well," she finally said. "That went well."

Edward chuckled. "Aye," he agreed.

"Now what?" she asked.

Edward though for a moment as he turned off the tiny main street. "In the interest of making this convincing, I dinae suppose you should sleep at the inn."

"No, I do not suppose so," she agreed, her head feeling light.

"I have a home a few miles outside of town, we can go there as soon as we…" he trailed off when he saw he lost her attention.

They had just turned down the street and she could see all of the lights of the harbor twinkling against the night waters. They bravely sparkled against the immense darkness and it struck her as so beautiful.

"When did ye get to Skye?" he wondered.

"About 20 minutes before we met," she answered.

Edward glanced at her in surprise before directing his eyes back to the road. "I'll show ye around then? Tomorrow?" he asked tentatively.

"That would be lovely," she replied honestly. They had one day before the banks were open and they had to get to work.

They drove in silence for a few moments before Isabella realized that they were at the distillery.

"You live here?" she asked in surprise.

"No," he grinned. "Just need to pick something up."

Isabella didn't let her face react or show the unexpected stab of disappointment she felt, realizing that he would be thinking of work at that point. They were no longer in front of all of his friends and family who assumed they had situated themselves in a honeymoon suite or knew better. There was no need to keep up the farce of being a newly married couple with no one watching.

She was surprised when he opened the door for her. "Just a wee stop," he promised.

Edward navigated expertly through his distillery, pulling a set of keys out of the small purse-like thing that hung in front of his body, over his kilt. Someone had told her the name of it but she could not remember as they walked through the halls.

"Edward!" she exclaimed suddenly.

He immediately turned to her. "Whit? Whit's wrong?"

"The song I walked down the aisle to – what was it called? Highland something, right?"

At hearing that, his shoulders relaxed and the panicked expression on his face smoothed away. "Highland Cathedral."

"Ah! I knew it!"

Edward gave her a dubious look.

"I knew it," she told him.

"Aye," he agreed before taking her hand and gently tugging her along. "Come on then."

"Emmet did a beautiful job," she commented as they walked.

"He's one of the best pipers in Scotland," he informed her with a note of pride in his voice. "He teaches at the National Piping Centre in Glasgow."

"It was lovely," she said.

"Aye," he agreed. He then stopped walking and twisted a different key in an unlocked door. Isabella waited at the threshold as he went in and quickly retrieved what he had come for. He handed her a bottle while he turned to lock the door again.

"Alcohol?" she asked. "I'm not sure I need more of it."

Edward chuckled. "Ye do talk a lot more after a few drams, did ye ken that?"

Isabella raised her chin with dignity.

"It's been mentioned."

He chuckled. "Trust me, ye'll want this one," he promised, taking the bottle gently out of her hands and instead grabbing one of her hands.

"Are you trying to me drunk Mr. Mac- Cullen…Jeffrey, James- what the hell were all of your last names again?"

Edward laughed deeply as they walked out of the distillery. "MacDonald will do," he told her.

Largely aware that she was more talkative than she had planned to be, Isabella resolved to sit quietly for at least five minutes in the car without making a fool out of herself. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Edward lived less than a mile down the road from the distillery and soon he was opening the car door for her to get out.

It was a white, medium sized cottage that looked as if it had been renovated within the past ten years. There were no other cottages around for acres and the house was slightly elevated, situated on a rolling hill. A single light was on over the front door, which was painted a beautiful red.

"When it's light, ye can see Loch Pooltiel, the Uists, the Benbeculas, even the Outer Hebrides," he finally said.

"It's lovely," she commented as he led her to the front door.

"Ooch, let me get yer bag," he remembered, handing her the heavy bottle and turning back to the car where her suitcase was in the small trunk, something she had forgotten about entirely. He quickly grabbed the bag and returned to the front door. "While ye do look braw in that dress, I canne imagine ye want to sleep in it."

Isabella looked down at the dress. It was from the 70's but it was nearly impossible to tell. It was a long sleeved with lovely lace at the forearms and around the slight dip near the neck line. There was also beautiful embroidering at the bottom half of the skirt which was a bit scrunched up in the back where Lizzie had stitched a bustle to hold the train. Other than that, it had fit her perfectly, surprising both her and Lizzie.

"No," she agreed. "Thank you. And thank you for letting me wear it."

"Ye are verra bonnie in it." He opened the unlocked door and let her in. "Maw would have been happy."

Had he not had her back to her as he walked through the threshold, he would have seen the pleased blush rise on her cheeks.

Isabella took in her surroundings as Edward crossed the large room. He made quick work of lighting a fire in the small stone fireplace. The main room they were in had several windows and was uncrowded by two red couches, some small tables, and a plush rug that had been some kind of animal. Over to her left was a space for the dining room table and being that was a decently sized corner kitchen that also had several windows.

It wasn't until the fire started that she realized how cold she was. It was November in Scotland after all.

"It'll warm up quickly," he apologized, seeing her rub one of her hands up and down her arm to warm it up. "Here, let me take that," he volunteered, reaching for the bottle.

"Ah yes, back to getting me drunk."

Edward smirked. "I say ye did fine enough left on yer own."

"I'm quite adept it appears," she replied wryly.

With a grin, he turned his back to open the bottle and pour two glasses. He faced her once again with two glasses filled half way with amber liquid. Isabella eyed it with a raised eyebrow.

"I am no trying to get ye drunk, Annie," he said seriously. "I ken ye dinnae have a reason to trust me, but I promise ye: I will no take advantage of ye."

Isabella had to smile at his earnest expression. "I trust you," she admitted, feeling the words slip out of her mouth without her control.

Edward smiled shyly and then handed her the glass that had less liquid in it.

"What is it?" she asked, sniffing discreetly.

"One of our finer single malt batches," he said with a curious look in his eyes. "My dad distilled it."

She took another sip, noting even in her drunken state, that it was likely the best whisky she had ever had.

"When did you lose them?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

Edward sighed again and for the first time, she could see that he was a young man who did not have all of the answers. He had acted so sure, so confident, so charming around his family and friends. The man she was looking at now looked almost…lost.

"Maw when I was 16…cancer, ye ken?" Isabella nodded sadly. "And Da…it'll be a year in February."

Isabella put a hand on his broad shoulder in a gesture of comfort, not knowing what to say.

"I am sorry," she finally said.

She felt his shoulder rise as he inhaled a large breath through his nose and then slowly let it out before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a large gulp.

"Thank ye," he said after he lowered his glass.

Isabella sighed quietly. She looked down at her own glass before staring back at her husband who was still looking down at his dram. She held her glass to him.

"To your parents."

Edward looked up and blinked a few times, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

"Aye," he agreed quietly, clinking his glass against hers.

They took a sip of the well-aged, likely relatively expensive whisky, and then sat in silence.

Isabella's hand dropped of his shoulder and returned to her lap. Silence descended on the room and Isabella took her own healthy swig of the drink.

She could tell it was even better and even smoother than the usual Sleat malt she drank.

She took another drink to try and squelch the growing unworthiness that she be the one sharing his memory of his parents.

"My Grandad loved this stuff," she finally volunteered, trying desperately to regain a sense of equilibrium.

That seemed to startle him out of his musings. "Scotch?" he asked curiously.

"Sleat whisky," she corrected softly.

"Aye?" he asked, surprised.

"He and my Grannie went on their honeymoon in Scotland in the 40's and everywhere they went…they found Sleat malts," she told him quietly, staring straight ahead and not meeting his eyes as she shared. "He always had it at the house," she finished in a rush.

"Swan…" he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Swan," he repeated her last name musingly. "For over 50 years Sleat had a longstanding order and sent a batch of whisky twice a year to the states for a man named Swan. I wonder if…"

A slight smile crept onto her lips.

"That would be him."

At that, Edward looked at her, turning his full gaze and attention to her. His lips were parted oh so slightly as stared at her as if he was really seeing her, having been given a hint of the complexities that she carried close to her heart.

With a heavy breath of her own, she raised her glass. "To auld lang syne?"

His lips closed into a soft smile.

"For auld lang syne."

For the sake of old times.

The wee hours of the morning found the new couple not the least bit intoxicated after a few glasses of the new whisky.

Edward discovered that once his new wife started giggling, little could stop her. The sound was sweet and surprising coming from her, and as she sat and laughed and tried to stop laughing which only made her laugh harder, he couldn't help the broad smile that spread across his face in response to the sight.

She had learned that the more he drank, the more his accent thickened and his choice of vocabulary expanded. The latest round of giggles had been set off by him telling her about a few years ago when he had been so hungover that the smell of chips had "gie'n him the boak."

Eventually, she calmed down and relaxed against the couch, letting out a long, amused sigh before taking another drink. She looked lovely setting there in a sea of white against the red couch, a warm pink flush on her cheeks and her hair tousled from an evening of dancing and drink. Her eyes danced with laughter and he found himself smiling like an idiot at seeing her pleasure.

"What were the words to the stomping earlier?" she asked, suddenly remembering her confusion. "Gaelic, right?"

Understanding dawned on his face as he realized what she was talking about. "Mo leannan, mo leannan bhiodheach," he told her, the strange words flowing effortlessly off his lips. It made her smile.

"And what does that mean?" she asked curiously.

Edward stared at her for a moment and blinked slowly before he answered.

"My sweetheart. My beautiful sweetheart."

Boldly, she met his gaze and for a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire that had long since warmed the room.

"That's lovely," she finally murmured, lifting the whisky to her lips as her throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Edward chuckled to himself, broken out of the trance he had been in. He noticed that not only was she more talkative when she was drinking, but she also referred to just about everything as "lovely."

He wondered if she realized.

"Aye," he agreed softly.

Isabella wiggled slightly as some of the three dozen or so small buttons that fastened her dress dug into her back. She tried to get comfortable without their small presence digging into her spine.

Edward realized what the problem was. "I'm daft. I'm sorry," he suddenly apologized. "Ye probably have no way to get out of that dress. I should have offered to help ye."

He was not expecting the surprised but undoubtedly pleased look he received in response. She granted him with a soft grin. "That would be lovely actually, if you don't mind."

Edward sat his glass down and stood up, offering her a hand. Once she was on her feet, he stepped behind her to get to work. "Och," he muttered, seeing how many buttons there were and how small they were.

"Alice and her wee fingers were much better for this, weren't they?"

Isabella giggled. Even Alice had struggled to get her into the dress, but now didn't seem like the best time to mention that.

Edward tentatively laid his fingers against her back where the buttons were. After an experimental tug failed, he had to get close to see how snug the buttons were fastened. His legs complained as he had to sink into a squat to lower himself down to her level, but he ignored the ache as he tried to get his large fingers to release the button. He was close enough that he could feel her chest rise and fall as he worked.

"Ah!" he said triumphantly when the first one released.

For a man of his size, he was remarkably gentle, she noted. He did not tug on the dress or use any force to get them undone. He worked with deep furrow in his brows, painstakingly fiddling with each one.

After a few, he fell into a rhythm, successfully undoing one after another. Each button gone, each bit of fabric parted revealed another sliver of her creamy white back. The skin was soft looking, glowing from the firelight. With each button undone, he felt a tension rising in the room. He felt the urge to run his finger down the length of her spine, to feel her skin under his hands.

He was finding it increasingly difficult to swallow.

The breaths she was taking no longer filled her belly. The further down he got with the buttons, the swallower her breaths were.

Finally, he reached the bottom of the buttons, undoing the last few on her lower back, ignoring the fact that his hands were hovering over her perfectly round bum. He took painstaking care to only use the tips of his fingers as he undid the last few buttons.

For a moment after he finished, neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

Finally, he forced himself to swallow.

"There ye go," he murmured, the words scratchy against his dry throat.

Isabella turned to face him as he stood up. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Right," he said after blinking three times at her. "Yer wee bag is right there. I'll just go and leave ye to it."

"Go where?" she asked, the words slipping out of her mouth.

That made his lips quirk up into a grin. "I'll be right over there in that bedroom," he said, nodding in that direction. "Holler when yer finished."

Once he was out of the room, she pulled her sleeves out of the dress and let it fall to the floor before stepping out of it. She quickly found a crewneck sweatshirt from her college days that she had never gotten rid, and slipped on a pair of leggings, her sleeping attire for the past few days. She didn't bother to consider why she was rushing to have her rejoin him.

"All set," she called in the direction Edward had left, picking up the beautiful wedding dress and draping it across the opposite red couch.

When Edward entered the room, he had shed his formal wear and was instead wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that was snug on his chest, emphasizing the sizeable muscles he had. Without the kilt and suit coat he looked much more…human. It made her turn her head and smile.[c1]

In his hands, she noticed, were glasses of water.

"That better not be vodka," she said playfully.

Edward chuckled. "No, no it's no," he assured her, handing her one of the tall glasses. "Figured ye might appreciate it."

Isabella sat back down on the couch with her glass, still feeling drunk and lightheaded, but nevertheless surprisingly content. Edward stayed standing, taking a long gulp of his water.

"I thought whisky did not bother you?" she teased.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"That was before I tried to keep up with ye."

That made Isabella laugh and he smiled.

"Did we finish the bottle?" she wondered as she patted the couch cushion next to her, indicating that he should take back up the spot he had been in for the better part of the evening.

Obligingly, Edward sat back down next to her. "There's enough for about two more glasses."

"Another time then," she murmured.

He made a humming noise from the back of his throat she was beginning to associate with Scots in general.

"How old are you?" she asked him suddenly.

"I was born in '84," he answered.

Isabella winced. "So that would be…mean you are at least 22…25ish or – damnit I really am drunk."

"24," he supplied helpfully.

"24. Exactly," she agreed, taking another drink of water while he chuckled.

"What about ye?" he asked.

"I was born in the 70's," she told him conspiringly.

That seemed to surprise him. "Aye?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"'79," she supplied with a smirk.

"Yer a regular hippy," he said with an eye roll. "29 then?"

Isabella settled comfortably into the couch, her eyelids feeling suddenly very heavy as she yawned. "29 then," she agreed.

Edward stared at her curiously, clearly wondering about her life and what had led her to have so much money and so little ties to the states that would warrant her marrying a stranger in a strange country to save a distillery. But he kept his mouth closed through all of his musings. He would not force himself on her in any way.

He respected her too much.

"Caledonia," she mumbled the ancient word for Scotland sleepily.

"Aye?" he asked, amused at her suddenly lack of energy.

"We danced to it," she recalled. It had been their first dance, courtesy of Lizzie or Collette, he wasn't sure.

"Aye, we did," he agreed.

"Do you remember the words?" she asked. "It was lovely."

Edward couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips.

"Aye, I do."

Her eyelids had fluttered closed but after he did not continue to speak, one eye lid opened. The sleepy eye looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, uh…I suppose ye are curious then?"

"If you wouldn't mind," she replied, closing the eye.

"Oh," he said, with a nod, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. "Caledonia is what the Roman's called Scotland, I dinae ken if ye knew that or no?"

She nodded.

"Oh right, well versed in yer history of the Scots, I forgot."

"I wouldn't say…well versed per say," she replied, her statement broken up by a yawn that was too big for her face.

"Right," he said in a tone of disagreement. "Well the song is about Scotland. The singer has been away for a time and is saying that Caledonia is calling them home and that even if they're ever a stranger, which would truly make any man or lass sad of course, this is land is all that they…that any of us really, have ever had."

He paused and noticed that her breathing had evened out.

As she drifted sleepily into her curious dreams, she could have sworn she heard a low voice, quietly singing the song of her second wedding.

* * *

and yet, the night is still young...

I would like to clarify again that this story is set in 2008 at the onset of the great recession. It hasn't necessarily been clear, so just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.

I hope you enjoy these two as much as I do.

all the love.


	8. Pre-Plan

The day she turned 21 would forever be seared into her memory.

She had just started her junior year at the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. After officially declaring her Bachelor of Science in Business Finance, she had spent her summer interning at JP Morgan Chase and was looking forward to a return to school schedules, out of suits and 60-hour work weeks in the corporate world.

"Come on Isabella!" her roommates had whined. "It's your 21st birthday, we should be going out!"

"You guys are still 20," she reminded looking at Sandy and Tiffany, whom she shared her apartment with. "And in case you forgot, your fakes were confiscated at 303's last week."

Tiffany pouted and replied, "The new ones are coming any day!"

Ignoring her, Sandy smirked. "Jake would be more than happy to take you out."

"He's over 21," Tiffany agreed slyly, moving on from her own dilemma. "He would _love_ to buy you a drink."

Isabella had laughed, ignoring their matchmaking. "I've already got plans."

"Dinner with your grandparents does not constitute plans, Isabella!" Sandy argued. "It's like a _pre_ -plan at best."

Isabella shook her head. "I'm sorry ladies, I've had this date on the books for about a decade now."

On her way out the door she heard Tiffany shout, "Fine, but when you get home, we're taking shots!"

The drive from Philadelphia to Allentown took about an hour. She listened to the newest Backstreet Boys song no less than four times before she turned off the radio and drove in silence. As she drove, she felt a weight ease off her shoulders knowing her destination. College was tough and the she was in classes with fiercely competitive students. As she got closer to her grandparent's house, the tension eased, if only for the night.

She hadn't seen them in a couple weeks. The last time she had been there, she had gardened with Grannie while Grandad fussed around with a few loose boards on their small garden fence. He grumbled under his breath about "Doggone bunnies getting into all of their plants," while Grannie had shared a private, amused smile with her. They had drank peach ice tea on the deck and chatted happily about her upcoming course schedule.

When she was getting ready to leave, her Grandad had pulled her aside and said "Now, I know you might have other plans for your birthday," he started gruffly, "And we would love to see you whenever we can. You and I can share that drink later too. It doesn't have to be on your birthday."

She opened her mouth but he continued seriously.

"I know it's on a Friday and I was once your age. I know your friends will likely have plans. Your Grannie and I will cook you dinner whenever you have time."

She had grinned up at him. "I will be here on my birthday, just like I've always said."

And he had pulled her in for one of his extra tight hugs and kissed the side of her head.

The thought made her smile as she got closer to her exit.

Of course she would be there.

They had made the plan all of those years ago.

As she took the familiar turns to the house that she had always loved a small smile grew on her face. She drove the car as if on autopilot, not thinking about where the stop signs were or where to turn; it was muscle memory after all of these years.

She pulled up in front of the light-yellow rambler and turned the car off. She headed up the curved driveway and knocked when she got to the front door. It was more of a hello knock as she usually let herself in. When she turned the door knob, however, it was locked. Her brow wrinkled. She waited a few moments, figuring one of her grandparents would unlock the door and let her in shortly.

When no one came to the door, she bent down and lifted the welcome mat to get the spare key under the right corner. She turned it in the knob and then let herself into the house, easing the door open.

It was quiet.

She looked around the familiar place and noticed the silence immediately.

They weren't home.

The smile that had been on her face began to fall.

"Grannie?" she called. "Grandad?"

No response.

Unease began to creep through her as she took a few more steps into the living room.

Grannie had just called her the night before.

"We will plan on dinner at 6:00, sweetheart. You do not need to bring a thing, we will cook for you! Grandad and I are making your favorite…that shrimp pasta you love."

Isabella looked at the wristwatch she wore. 5:52.

They were never late.

Not in all the years that she'd been alive had they been late to a prior engagement, especially one which they would consider as important as this.

With that feeling of unease growing uncomfortably in her chest, she further entered the house. She walked to the back door to make sure they weren't outside in their massive garden.

It was empty.

On the counter sat a box of uncooked pasta noodles, garlic cloves, and onions, all set out in preparation for the dish they had promised to cook. But the kitchen was empty. None of the appliances were errantly turned on and even the lights were off.

They must have just gone to the grocery store, she assured herself, they would be back soon.

Minutes ticked by.

Once 6:00pm had come and gone, she began to pace. She went to the living room and looked out the bay windows so that she would be able to see if their car pulled into the driveway.

As she waited, she noticed the bottle of whisky in its familiar place on the corner end table, for the first time with two glasses sitting next to it, rather than only one. She smiled and turned, opening to see them in the window and finding nothing.

Her gaze lingered on the bottle of Scotch.

It was the first time she would share a glass of his beloved Sleat with him.

It was the biggest mark of adulthood she had ever been able to conceive.

Once 6:15pm had passed, Isabella was getting nervous. So, nervous that she picked up their phone and dialed a familiar number - familiar but not regularly used. She twirled the spiral cord nervously as it rang.

"Charles Swan speaking."

"Hey Dad, I-"

"Isabella?" he asked, his voice tense. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Grannie and Grandad's. But they're not here. Do you-"

"Isabella."

Her heart stopped in her chest at the way he said her name.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Isabella…your grandparents-"

"Dad, please-"

"They were on their way to the grocery store just a little bit ago and they got into a car accident. Both of them…both of them were killed from the impact."

Her knees gave out and she crumbled to the ground, all air caught in her chest, not going in or out, but simply suffocating her.

"Isabella?"

"Isabella, are you still there?"

"Isabella, are you okay?"

No.

~O~

Owe.

As she fluttered in and out of consciousness, switching between dreams, a light, tugging pain prevented her from staying asleep.

How had her neck gotten twisted?

Grudgingly, her eye lids blinked open as she stretched.

As her eyes started to straighten out, she realized where she was and why her neck had been in an awkward position. Presently, she was curled up on a couch, cuddled into Edward's warm, muscular side, leaving her neck in an awkward position.

Edward was awake.

As she sat up and straightened out, she realized her head was still heavy from all of the whisky they had consumed.

"How long was I asleep?" she wondered.

At that Edward grinned. "Oh maybe a wee 30 minutes or so?"

Isabella grinned sheepishly, running her fingers through the remnants of her curled hair, fluffing it as she rested her elbow on the back of the couch to face him. "That explains it."

Edward smiled as he looked at her. There was a warmth, almost a fondness in his stare.

It made her smile back.

"Yesterday," she said quietly, dipping her gaze. "You asked me if I'd ever been in love."

When he didn't respond immediately, she looked back up to see his smile had faded but he was still staring at her.

"Aye."

It was the tenderness she had seen in his gaze that made her ask.

"Why?"

She bit her lip but didn't lower her stare.

"Well, I suppose I wanted to know if we were on level playing fields as ye would say."

 _Oh_.

For a moment she froze, unsure what to say.

"Are we?" she asked quietly.

His lips quirked upwards at that, almost rueful as he replied, "I doubt that."

"There's been no one?" she wondered curiously, keeping surprise out of her voice.

There was so much she did not know about Edward Anthony Godfrey Cullen MacDonald. But he was a handsome young man, one who cared about his family, worked hard, and remembered that her suitcase was in the car.

At the question, it was Edward who gazed away from her. He picked up his forgotten glass of whisky and had one of the last few sips out of it.

"No," he finally answered as his eyes followed his movement to set down the glass. "No one."

Isabella chalked the unwelcome feeling of relief that floated through her mind to too much high-quality Scotch.

"Well," she chuckled softly, "I don't suppose this is how you expected to spend your wedding night."

He cracked a grin. "Well, I dinae suppose it's that far off between the whisky and a bonnie bride."

Isabella smiled shyly.

"The rest of a wedding night is overrated anyway," she joked.

Edward chuckled as he looked back over at his whisky glass, but the sound seemed forced.

"Aye, I'll take yer word for it."

Isabella's mouth opened in surprise. It was a quick reaction and she closed it before he could glance back in her direction.

She swallowed in her dry throat before speaking.

"Really?" she asked.

Edward picked back up the glass of whisky at the question and downed the rest of the contents without hesitation, having realized what he had allowed to slip out of his mouth.

"Aye," he replied, setting the glass back down on the table and not looking at her. He scratched at the back of his neck, his neck that was suddenly tinged pink.

Isabella was speechless.

How the hell had she ended up in Scotland in a pretend marriage to a virgin Highlander?

At her silence, he added, his tone more defensive, "Never found the right lass."

Before she could reply, he continued, still not meeting her eyes.

"I always reckoned that we'd figure it out together, ye ken?"

Isabella swallowed and nodded, but he didn't see the motion.

Not knowing what to say, she scooted closer and then reached over and rested her hand on his broad back.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured.

Edward lifted his head and he looked at her with both eyebrows raised.

"For whit?"

"I feel like I've taken something from you," she said softly. "Today, yesterday I guess…with your family and your friends, drinking and dancing and celebrating you and the man they see in you…I was never meant to be a part of that. I was not meant to wear your mother's dress or share a whisky with you…I, I-" she broke off, visibly frustrated that the words she was trying to say were not coming to her.

"Ah, mo leannan," he soothed. "Ye have no taken a thing from me. Truly."

Isabella's head felt heavy and when she was intoxicated, she had picked up a bad habit in college of resting it on whoever had an open shoulder. She felt her head fall against her husband's shoulder with a groan, indicating that she had not found his assurance convincing.

Edward chuckled at that, resting his head against hers. "Ye are helping me more than I could ever ask of someone. Ye have no taken a thing…only given."

Isabella closed her eyes at his sweet words.

They stayed like that for a while, both of them only hardly daring to breath.

"I should show you to yer room before ye fall asleep again," he murmured, not lifting his head from hers.

At the suggestion, Isabella could not help the yawn that forced its way out of her mouth.

Edward chuckled at hearing it, lifting his head this time.

"Come on then, hen."

He stood up and then offered her a hand. She took it and smiled. His hands were large and warm and comforting. Slowly, he led her from the living room past the kitchen and down the hall where she had changed out of her wedding dress prior to falling asleep briefly on the couch. She was thankful for the slow pace as standing up had left her just a little dizzy from drink and the sudden change in elevation.

"Here ye are," Edward announced unnecessarily when they reached the room her stuff was in. Isabella noticed that he didn't immediately drop her hand but rather held onto it for a lingering moment before releasing her.

She nodded, also unnecessarily, before going to stand in the threshold of the room.

"Right," he said, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and rubbing as he spoke. "So, if ye need me, I'm just right down the hall."

Isabella stared at him for a moment, considering.

The night of her wedding had not been what it was supposed to be.

It had been disappointing and horribly lonely.

She'd be damned if she wished that on anyone else.

"Would you like to come in?"

* * *

I just have to say that I so adore all of you. Reading your reviews and seeing you all experience this tale for the first time makes me look at it a little bit differently, a little bit more lovingly.

See you all soon.


	9. Expectations

_Bella girl,_

 _Happy 21_ _st_ _birthday! You have grown to be such a fine young woman. You have a big and beautiful heart and a good head on your shoulders. Your Grandad and I are always so proud of that fiery little girl that you were and that now you carry within you. You can do anything and you can be anything, and you are never too old to know that. Always remember that you are loved, Bella._

 _Xoxo,_

 _Grannie and Grandad_

Isabella read the card again, letting out a long, shuddering breath as she did so. Her eyes were blurred. It was only a matter of seconds before the tears would spill over, that she was accustomed to.

It was the last words she had from them, her last connection to the people who had been, for all intents and purposes, her parents.

The words felt fresh. Looking at her grandmother's familiar sprawling script, it felt as if they had just been penned. As if she could rub the ink and it would smudge, having not quite dried yet.

It had been propped up against a vase of flowers on the counter in her grandparent's house. The image of her name penned on the white envelope was seared into her brain. It was what she had been staring at when her father had called her with the news.

It was her name; nothing more.

But she couldn't get the image out of her head.

It was there when she closed her eyes at night and it was there when she woke up.

The image of that greeting card would always be associated with the single worst moment of her life.

She buried her face in her hands. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to block the images, tried to stop the onslaught. She tried not to think about the funeral that had only been three days ago now. Tried to not to think of those closet caskets. Tried not to remember the smell of incense that had permeated the church. She tried to not to remember the tense silence between her and her father. She tried not to wish that she had them to talk to.

But God did she feel alone.

She felt so cripplingly alone, sitting cross legged in her bedroom in her college house. She had classes to go to and could not stay and seek refuge in the little rambler an hour away. She had to go on with her life.

She spent plenty of nights on her own, studying, or reading.

She was okay with being on her own.

She always had been.

But the two people that meant the most to her were not one hour away, sitting in their recliners and watching baseball or the nightly news.

They were gone.

There was a soft knock on her door that caused her to lift her head from her hands.

Jake Montgomery poked his head tentatively in the room.

"Hey there," he said gently. His handsome blues eyes were crinkled with compassion as he took her in.

"Hi," she said with a shaky breath and an unconvincing smile.

"Sandy let me in," he explained.

She nodded, not knowing what to do.

Jake had been a friend for a while now. He had been in one of the professional business fraternities with Sandy and Isabella had gone out with them a few times in the past few months. Isabella was fully aware that both Sandy and Jake thought that Isabella and Jake would make a great pair.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, coming fully into the room. Jake had attended the funeral with some of her friends, offering encouraging smiles whenever he saw her.

"I'm getting by," she replied as she shifted over to make space for him as he sat down next to her on her bed.

"It's so hard," he offered sympathetically. "You are doing well and staying strong Isabella."

She let out an inelegant snort of disagreement.

"Hey," he said, nudging her shoulder. "You are, really."

Isabella still gave him a look through her swollen eyes but grudgingly said, "Thanks."

Jake nodded as he continued speaking, "I was devastated when my grandmother died when I was a kid."

Isabella didn't say anything, too absorbed in her own misery.

Jake continued, settling comfortably onto her bed. "I found that one of the only things that helped was to try and keep my mind away from thinking about it too much."

"It's all of I've been doing," she said with a helpless laugh. "All I do is think about it too much. I don't even know the last time I've _felt_ anything!"

Jake slowly reached over and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"Well," he said softly as he inched his face nearer to hers. "I can help you feel something."

He kissed her.

And since he was there and she was lonely and his eyes led her to believe that he cared…she let him.

~O~

For a second, she couldn't believe she had spoken.

Standing there, at the door of a bedroom with a bed that was foreign to her, in a house that was not her own, she could not quite believe she had just invited a stranger into her room in the wee hours of the morning.

Not a stranger.

Her husband.

The man who seemed to forget how to breathe.

Clearly he had not been expecting such an invitation.

She held his gaze.

Slowly, his face unfroze. He closed his lips and then opened them a fraction of an inch, one of his eyebrows raising slightly as he stared at her.

It felt like minutes had passed in the thick silence, but surely it couldn't have been. She continued to stare at him as hundreds of thoughts flashed through his eyes.

"Aye?" he finally breathed. "Can I kiss ye then, _mo muirmín_?

It was her turn to feel her breath catch in her throat.

Slowly she nodded.

A shiver descended down her spine as he leaned down towards her, sweeping his lips against hers with the slowest of brushes. It wasn't until he gently tugged her bottom lip between his own did she realize that somewhere between the drams of whisky had she become aroused by him.

She let her tongue slide out of her mouth and lightly touch the seam of his mouth. He let out a heavy breath, dangerously close to a moan. She felt his hands go to her hair, weaving his strong fingers against the back of her neck and tugging lightly.

Isabella was surprised when he pulled away. But forced her hazy eyes to open in time to see a slight grin as he kissed her face; her cheeks, her jaw, her chin. His warm breath was on her face as he carefully explored the contour of her face, holding her delicately. She let her eyes close once again as she enjoyed the sensation.

When she felt his lips pause and then lift from the delicate spot by her ear, she once again opened her eyes.

There was unmistakable lust in his eyes as he stared at her with an intensity that made her pause and swallow. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the nape of her neck as he stared at her. Through their kissing, he had pulled her against him and she could feel his desire.

But there was a sliver of hesitance in his eyes, just a hint of uncertainty that caught her attention.

This was more her territory than his.

With a soft smile, she reached down and took his hand, pulling him across the threshold and into the bedroom that he had offered to her. He followed her obediently in, offering her a hand squeeze as he did.

"Let's start with this," she murmured as lifted the hem of his dark shirt. He lifted his arms over his head to aid her in removing the article of clothing. For a moment, she simply admired him. He was well built. The shirt had been tight fitting enough that she see he had a lot of muscles and not much fat.

Seeing is believing.

The absurd thought filtered into her brain and she smiled.

He smiled in return as he rested his large hands on her hips. Staring at her with that same smothering gaze, he slowly lifted her sweatshirt up over her torso and then all the way off as she obliged him by lifting her arms.

When she had drunkenly changed out of her wedding dress, she had left on the strapless white bra that was just barely staying upright enough to cover her breasts.

Surprising her, he pulled her close then, so that their warm bare chests were flush against one another. She almost sighed at the lovely feeling of it, but he was brushing his fingertips against her cheek while his other hand splayed at her lower back.

"I do not expect this, Bella," he whispered. "Christ, I dinae marry ye with this in mind, I promise ye."

Isabella smiled as she released a breath.

"I know."

She lifted her hand out to his cheek, mirroring him.

"And you…you do not have to do this," she whispered softly.

He didn't immediately respond. Instead, he leaned down to brush his lips against hers once again. He kissed her until her head was spinning and she took that as his response. She lightly raked her nails against his warm back, enjoying the feel of solid muscle under her hands.

But then he broke away and once again said something she was not expecting and did not entirely understand.

"Aye, but I trust ye, _mo chroí_."

Their lips met as his fingers found the bra clasp. Apparently getting her out of her dress had been good practice as he easily undid the clasp and let the bra fall to the floor at her feet. Both of his hands went up to her face to reverently caress her face, a smile on his lips. She returned the smile, a bit shy.

But his hands moved slowly and carefully from her cheeks down her shoulders and arms before stroking up her torso until they cupped her breasts. She bit her lip at the sensation as his warm hands cupped and tantalized her breasts. As his figures reverently explored and fondled, she felt dizzy and lightheaded from the lingering alcohol and his fiery touch.

Isabella was so caught up in enjoying the sensations he was eliciting from her that she hardly noticed when they made their way to the bed. She was aware of them each removing their respective pants before settling into the bed with no clothes left to remove.

She was tentative as she reached out to touch him.

His gasp was sharp and sweet.

She smiled against his shoulder and she lightly moved her fingers, exploring the silky feel of him. He was responsive to every little touch and was horrible at preventing the noises from leaving his mouth. He hissed when her hand drifted to wrap around him.

He didn't let her get very far before he had her pressed into the mattress, kissing her harder while grinding gently against her. She gasped at the sensation, coupled with the tug of his teeth on her bottom lip.

She felt him take her hand in his as he whispered against her lips.

"Show me."

The words were a soft growl.

Wonderfully delirious, she led his hand down to where she was aching to be touched. He shifted his weight so that he could fully access the area she was blindly showing him, moving his fingers gently. It was a bit awkward at first, but soon his fingers had found the rhythm she wanted. She gasped against his lips when he took over the ministrations fully.

She closed her eyes and whimpered as he kept his touch as light and consistent as hers had been. He paused when he heard the noise and she felt a smile against her lips as he continued with even more determination.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise as she felt the familiar feeling start to build.

Surprised, he stopped for a moment.

"Mm," she hummed, shaking her head urgently and urging him to continue.

"Aye," he muttered against her lips, continuing the same rhythm of exploration.

She let out more whimpers and groans as she got closer and closer until she burst. She cried out, closing her eyes and arching her back, pushing her chest into him. He wrapped his arms around her and caught her and she came back down.

"Aye," she muttered, rapturous as she breathed in and out slowly.

Edward smiled and leaned down to brush her cheek with a soft kiss.

"Aye," he repeated teasingly.

She opened her eyes and offered him a warm smile. She shifted so that she could wrap her legs around him and pull his warmth against her.

Feeling the sensation, his eyes lifted to meet hers, a question in his burning irises.

She nodded.

Keeping his eyes on her, he moved against her, shifting his hips into a new and unfamiliar angle. She reached down between them and guided the tip to her entrance. She was a breath away from encouraging him to go slow, but as he started to move, it was unnecessary.

He was slow as he entered her, moving carefully so as not to hurt her. He let out a groan when he was fully inside her and her back slightly arched at the sensation. She reached out to cup his cheek and leaned to place a kiss on his full lips. When he opened his eyes, she smiled and nodded.

With that encouragement, he started to move slowly. She was content to simply feel him as he learned and felt sensations that were new to him. As he gained more confidence and started to settle into a cautious rhythm, she started moving her hips to meet his strokes, helping him and moving with him.

As they moved together, she found herself moved in a way she would have never expected.

He moved with a tenderness that made her heart ache. On his face was a look of wonder as he experienced a new ecstasy for the first time. She felt an overwhelming and surprising amount of affection for him that she could not credit the whisky for.

As he moved, his muscles tightened and bunched and she moved, feeling a sweet sensation start to build as he began to move faster and faster. When she felt that he was still stubbornly holding back, she whispered, "Let go, Edward, let go."

And with a few pounding strokes, the muscles she was wrapped around tightened and he let out a loud moan that turned into a sigh as he began to untense.

Isabella smiled as easily flipped his limp body so that his back was pressed against the bed and she was resting against his chest, watching as his breathing started to level out.

"Oh Bella," he whispered, pulling her tightly to him and holding her reverently.

He leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head as she sleepily snuggled into him, the pull to slumber instantaneous.

" _Mo leannan bhiodheach_."

As she drifted easily into sleep, she remembered those words from his earlier Gaelic translation.

My beautiful sweetheart.

* * *

I wonder what morning holds for them. Surely things can't go this smoothly for long? Can they?

See you soon my loves.


	10. Unscratched

Charles Swan was late.

For all of Isabella's life, her father had been late only a handful.

Cleanliness, godliness, and punctuality he would say.

Therefore, it struck Isabella as especially odd that her father was late to something of this importance. She flashed a smile at her future mother-in-law, Elizabeth Montgomery, as she lifted the lemonade to her lips.

It was a lovely spring afternoon and it had been Jake's idea to invite their parents for lunch at their country club to celebrate their recent engagement. Their fathers had met at a variety of social events in the past decade, the upper class flying together like birds of a feather, but never as future in-laws.

Isabella looked at down at her watch and frowned. He was 10 minutes late.

Jake and his father were discussing Jake's younger brother Tom, and his upcoming internship that he was starting over the summer with Bank of America.

Finally, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father striding towards them, a large smile on his face and a bottle of wine in one of his arms.

"Michael, Elizabeth, so good to see you!" he exclaimed gallantly, reaching out to shake Jake's father's hand and give his mother a brief kiss on the cheek.

"Isabella, you look lovely," he said, moving to give his daughter a kiss on the cheek from where she stood next to Jake. He gave the future bridegroom a hearty handshake as well before they settled into their chairs.

A server was instantly on hand.

"Sir, would you like that corked?" he offered stiffly.

"Yes, what have you brought for us, Charles?" Michael asked, peering at the bottle.

"It is a Domaine Leroy Richebourg, Grand Cru 1949 from the Cote de Nuits in France," the wine connoisseur explained.

Isabella blanched.

That was a $5,000 bottle of wine from her father's cellar.

"That must mean you have good news from the SEC?" Jake said with a grin like a wolf.

Charles grinned indulgently, unable and unwilling to sufficiently mask his excitement. "Ah yes, I was at the office waiting for the call to come, my apologies for the delay. The rule change was unanimously approved by the SEC," he answered.

"Wonderful!" Michael cheered.

"Lovely! And what does that mean for your firm?" Elizabeth asked politely.

"Broker-dealers our size can now use our modeling to calculate our net capital requirements for market and derivatives-related credit risk," answered the Goldman Sachs executive.

Jake, appearing eager to impress his future parental figure, couldn't help himself from adding, "Basically it'll reduce our costs by allowing us at our firms to use our own internal risk management practices. With this rule change, our deductions for market and credit risk will be lower. We'll be able to reallocate capital to fund different business activities and better manage our own risk."

Isabella and Jake, both in their jobs on Wall Street out of college had discussed the potential rule change, keeping an eye on it as they planned their engagement and wedding.

Whereas Jake was thrilled, Isabella was ambivalent for the most part. If her father and fiancé, some of the smartest people she knew, thought it was a good move, she was hard-pressed to go against them and the rest of Wall Street. It wasn't directly related to her line of work of her wedding, so she did not have the brain space to consider it too thoroughly.

"Hear hear! Now, back to my lovely daughter and her soon to be husband," Charles said charmingly, raising his glass filled with one of the world's most expensive wines. "To nothing but good times!"

~O~

At his childhood home in Glasgow, they had had a set of blue silk pillows that rested on the couch. They sat propped against the beige couch in their sitting room and weathered the upbringing of three small children with no major stains or tears, a remarkable feat now that he considered it. In all of his upbringing, his mother had never once thought to replace them with something new.

He had woken up from a dream involving those pillows, which was odd in itself. However, as his fingers ran up and down the length of Isabella's bare back, he slowly came to understand why they may have come to his subconscious.

Her skin was soft and smooth and as he stroked her rising and falling back, he smiled as he realized why he had had a bizarre dream about his mother's decorating choices.

She was soft as silk.

Truth be told, it was possible that all women felt like this, but as he brushed his fingers up and down, up and down again, he was not totally convinced.

As his fingers moved mindlessly, he smiled to himself.

He craned his neck awkwardly to look down at his wife, careful to not move his body. As far as he knew, she had fell asleep against his chest and had not moved an inch. He wasn't sure if it was all the whisky or if she usually slept like the dead but the thought made him grin in amusement.

Despite his best efforts, his movements had disturbed her. She shifted a few inches before nuzzling into his chest with a small but discernable exhale out her nose.

He froze until he was absolutely certain she was still asleep.

While he was admittedly inexperienced, his preliminary conclusion was that waking up with a beautiful naked woman curled around him was a pleasant way to start the day.

He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear, smiling.

Perhaps they could be a marriage built on more than just respect.

* * *

Isabella awoke to the sound of arguing.

Blinking in confusion, she looked around, finding herself in an incredibly comfortable bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. There was a slight chill to the air, making the thick blankets surround her all the more cozy. She rubbed at her head as she looked around, feeling a deep ache behind her eyes.

She could hear rumbling voices somewhere in the house. She could hear Edward's low voice arguing with another, higher voice. As she rubbed her face, she could distinctly make out a few words.

"This is illegal! Ye cannot marry someone to get around government laws, MacDonald!"

Isabella was immediately alert.

She recognized MacLeod's voice. It seemed he had decided to pay the newlyweds a visit, and not necessarily to congratulate them on their newfound happiness.

Edward's response was inaudible to her but equally as impassioned.

With an audible groan, Isabella pushed herself out of the bed. Her lazy limbs moved quickly in the cold air brushing against her skin. With a growl and no time to consider anything that had happened the previous night, she grabbed one of the thick wool blankets off of the bed and wrapped it around her naked body and stalked out of the room.

"Awa' and bile yer heid!" Edward exclaimed angrily.

"Edward, honey?" she called, following the noise, her voice raspy from sleep. She felt like an idiot but ignored the urge to roll her eyes as she turned the corner to find the two men in the doorway.

Edward turned as she came in. "Yes, _mo leannan_?"

His eyes briefly widened at the sight of her, clad only in a blanket.

"What's going on?" she asked, mustering a yawn as she blinked sleepily at the two of them.

"MacLeod was just leaving," Edward informed her, turning a hard stare over to the banker in his house. MacLeod was looking at her, his lips curled back into a snarl. "Were ye not?"

Isabella slid to Edward's side and he easily slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

"That's one thing that's different between here and the States," she commented innocently.

"What's that?" Edward asked, looking genuinely curious.

Isabella looked at him with her brows intentionally furrowed. "In America, people don't usually show up unannounced in the middle of a honeymoon. It'd be considered rude, actually"

MacLeod chuckled humorlessly. "Honeymoon?" he deadpanned. "That's what yer calling this?"

Edward squeezed her shoulders gently, making a show of leaning down to kiss the top of her head before addressing the man in front of them. "She's right, MacLeod. Ye've more than overstayed the little welcome ye had."

MacLeod rolled his eyes. "This is not the end of this," he promised casually. "Ye will not get away with this."

Pushing it, Isabella looked at him in confusion. "Get away with what?" she asked, looking uncertainly at Edward.

A part of her knew she was laying it on a little thick.

The part that was hungover and hadn't had coffee didn't care.

MacLeod laughed, a nasty sound that verbalized his growing frustration. "I don't know where the hell ye found this bitch, but she is-"

In an instant, Edward had shoved MacLeod's shoulder against the door, towering over him menacingly. "Ye will no speak about my wife that way."

He let go of his shoulder and swung the door open. "Get off my property. Now."

MacLeod straightened his shoulders and glared.

"I will see ye tomorrow," he said coolly. "Once ye realize ye won't have the funds to pay RBS, I will expect ye and yer pretend wife to vacant the premises immediately."

Edward's face hardened as he stared at him.

"As of tomorrow afternoon, Sleat will have no outstanding debts to the Royal Bank of Scotland," Isabella informed him crisply.

"And ye will not be welcomed there," Edward added. "I will call the police should ye pay a visit."

MacLeod laughed that same nasty laugh. "The police will not be yer friends after this stunt, MacDonald. This…this…this _forced_ marriage is fraud! I promise ye that."

Edward nodded at the open door. "Continue to trespass and we'll give them a call and I'll take my chances."

With one final snarl in Isabella's direction, MacLeod squared his shoulders, turned on his heel and stalked out of the door. He had barely crossed the threshold when Edward slammed the door shut behind him, closing it with entirely more force than necessary. The loud bang was followed by a long stretch of silence.

"Thank ye for that," Edward finally said.

Isabella tightened the blanket around her shoulders against the chill that had been let into the house. She nodded in acknowledgement that she heard him.

Neither of them immediately said anything and instead stared at different spots on the hardwood floor. In the hours of daylight, alone together, they were strangers. Last night had loosened both of their tongues from the copious amounts of whisky and the air of celebration, but in the daylight, they knew very little about each other and the awkwardness was suddenly evident.

Edward rubbed at the back of his neck for a few moments before opening his mouth to speak and then closing it once more.

Isabella tightened the blanket around her shoulders while Edward cracked a knuckle on his right hand.

"Well I-"

"Do y-"

They both stopped.

"You go ahe-"

"What were-"

They cut their sentences off as they both spoke.

"After you," Isabella finally said.

"Aye," he chuckled nervously. "I suppose ye'd be wanting breakfast then?"

Isabella's stomach rumbled at the thought. "If it's not too much trouble," she hedged.

Edward grinned, choosing to ignore the awkwardness. "I'm told it's good practice to keep wives fed…even the pretend ones," he added cheekily

That made Isabella roll her eyes but not dispute the legitimacy of the advice.

"Toast? Eggs? Tatties? Mushrooms? Bangers? Porridge? Yogurt?" he asked, heading towards the kitchen. "What can I make ye?"

Isabella's eyes widened, overwhelmed with all of the options, not even knowing what some of them were.

Edward opened up the fridge and started to rummage around as he spoke to fill the silence. "Oh aye, I can cook. When we moved back to Skye after Maw passed away, Lizzie sat Da and I down and made us learn…she said something about Collette needing to be fed once in a blue moon."

Isabella frowned, thinking back to what he had shared about the deaths of his parents. When she realized he was looking at her expectantly, she was momentarily confused. "Oh! Whatever you're having. Thank you," she said, sitting down on one of the stools by the counter.

"Of course, as a result of Lizzie's tutelage," he continued as he pulled a few things out of the freezer, "I mostly learned how to cook the traditional Scottish fair she serves at the inn, for the tourists and whatnot."

She hummed noncommittally in response, fidgeting with the blanket covering her.

"Aye," he said, interpreting her noise as surprise. "Black pudding, cranachan, cock a leekie soup, mince pies, stovies, cullen skink, neeps and tatties, of course."

"Of course," she agreed.

He chuckled under his breath as he turned on the stove and then opened a cabinet to pull out a carton of eggs.

They lapsed back into silence as he moved about. It was less awkward than the first bout of quiet and Isabella found that it was not an unpleasant silence.

Edward, however, after a few minutes seemed to be uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.

"Collette has a room here," he informed her. "Upstairs. But she's been working with Lizzie at the inn since this summer, ever since she turned 18, so she stays there more nights than no."

Isabella nodded but remained silent.

With his back to her, she couldn't see the furrow between his brows as he frowned.

"Robert and Ian live nearby too," he continued after a moment. As he carefully cooked a hearty breakfast, he told her about his family, both extended and immediate. When she detected a pointed pause in his explanations, she would hum or nod to indicate that she was at least hearing him.

~[c2]

The more he talked, the more he had to wonder if she was actually _listening_.

But he sat the plate in front of her and when she offered a soft, but heart felt, "Thank you," he continued talking to her, attempting to draw a response.

As they ate, he told her that Wilson and Donald alternated between working at the distillery and the inn, while Robert and Ian had been full time employees solely at the distillery before the economy had slowed, and now worked some days and nights on the fishing boats that bobbed along in Portree Harbour. He also explained that Robert was actually a cousin once removed and Ian was in fact a second cousin.

It seemed to her that he was uncomfortable in the daylight between them, as he was much more talkative than she had seen him.

Once he finished talking, they fell into a pause that turned into an extended period of silence. Isabella, who had been pushing around the remains of her egg with her fork, finally set it down.

"Ach," he made a Scottish noise. "What did ye do to yer arm to get such a nasty bruise?"

Isabella looked down at her arm in surprise to see that part of her arm was exposed from the blanket having slid. The bruise was fading but it still had an unappealing yellowish color to it.

"I bruise easily," she replied, sliding her arm back under the blanket.

"Right," he said with a funny look before clearing his throat, "Well. I did promise to be yer tour guide, did I no?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she frowned and tried to recall such a promise. "Last night," he provided helpful, the hint of a laugh on his lips.

"Oh," she remembered slowly. "Yeah… yeah that would be great."

Edward stood up and began to gather their dishes, ignoring the obvious hesitance in her tone. "Ye may want to put on some trousers."

Isabella had entirely forgotten that she was sitting wrapped in a giant blanket. Upon this realization, she fought down the blush that was threatening to spread up her face and instead kept her chin high, nodded at him, and stood up to go change. When she had left the kitchen, she could swear she heard a chuckle come from his direction.

Once they had both donned their winter coats and boots, they ventured off to explore the island with Edward driving Isabella's small rental car. His side of the car was quite crowded, given the length of both his legs and arms being scrunched into the small vehicle. He didn't seem to mind as he told her more about the Isle of Skye.

For the first part of the day, he drove her around the Trotternish Peninsula, pulling off to the side of the road periodically to point out some geological foundations such as Kilt Rock, a sea cliff that admittedly did resemble a kilt, as well as different isles scattered across the horizon. Isabella took it all in without saying much, listening attentively when he spoke with his odd muted Glasgow accent.

Eventually, Edward pulled in a small dirt lot which had two other cars parked there. Isabella looked around as he got out of the car. He opened her door for her and held out a hand, his eyebrows raised and a grin on his face. "Up for a hike, are ye?"

She remained quiet.

The November weather was mild, and the scattered clouds allowed the sun to peak out and shine over the highlands occasionally. The air was certainly crisp, but it was also fresh. He did not mind the slight chill on the tip of his nose or the edges of his ears. As they hiked up the jagged hills, with greens fading to browns the shade of caramel, his wife did not say much.

The word "wife" floated uncertainly around in his head, still unfamiliar and uncomfortable after only 48 hours to get used to the notion. The previous day had been a whirlwind, full of his friends and family, drink and laughter.

And pretending.

By the time it had settled down, he was drunk off of damn good whisky with his bride in front of a cozy fire. He himself had hardly had time to consider the fact that he was legally married to an utterly random American woman, even if it was only to save his family business.

When he thought about it that way, he could hardly fault her for her silence.

Actually, he thought to himself with no small amount of stubbornness, there was actually something sort of beautiful about two people immersed in nature, comfortable in quiet.

Though he would not have been upset if she did choose to speak.

He knew almost nothing about her, save her last name and the fact that her grandfather had been Sleat's oldest and longest customer before he died. He wondered about that and wanted to ask more but resisted the urge.

He knew the touch of her hands and the feeling of her lips and while that was certainly not nothing, in the day light hours it was not much to go on.

While he didn't have much experience with her, he was inclined to believe that last night was an exception rather than a rule. In front of the fire, cheeks pink from whisky, she had been charming and funny and full of life.

She had taken him into her bed and given that part of her to him, just as he had her. She had held him and touched him, pulling effortlessly out of him feelings and even sounds he had never experienced.

In the daylight, she had drawn into herself.

While she nodded and seemed to listen when he spoke, he got the sense that she was somewhere else entirely. The more he spoke only to receive silence, the harder he fought not to internalize it.

It was a bloody odd situation, he reminded himself.

As they ascended one of the peaks, she walked in front of him. He kept up with her easily, at times falling into the rhythm of the climb and hardly focusing on her. Other times though, he watched.

And even in the silence - especially _in the silence_ \- he learned about her.

He learned that she was cautious, but not overly so. If there was a patch of loose rocks, she would pause for a half of second before walking over them, staying light on her toes. He learned that she was persistent. Even after a particularly steep stretch of ascent, she did not stop, even when he probably would have. He learned that she had a sense of wonder. Every so often she would slow down and take a moment to look around her and take in the scenery, letting out a large breath so she did so. He took these observations and tried to piece together a sense of who the woman actually was.

It was not much to go off of, but he fought to remain optimistic.

After an hour or so, they had reached the top of the path they had been on and found a boulder to sit on. The clouds had thinned, and the sun felt fresh and comforting against his face that had been chilled from the colder weather. The Quiraing was beautiful in any lighting, but illuminated by the sun, it was breathtaking.

They sat for a long period of time, not saying anything. Eventually the sun slid behind a cloud and the land around them was dimmed. Isabella turned to him, an impassive expression on her fact. "What's the history with MacLeod?"

Edward raised both of his eyebrows, surprised that that was what she was asking.

"What makes ye say that?" he asked, scratching at the ginger colored stubble on his cheek.

Isabella shrugged.

"Aye," he said, considering.

She waited.

"Truth be told, he's never really liked me," he explained, scratching his chin. "I grew up in Glasgow, I dinae know if ye ken that? Aye. Well after Maw died and we moved to Skye, I had two years left of school that I had to finish. It wasn't a very big school…I dinnae ken really. From the first day he didn't seem to like me. Never thought much of it really, ye cannae please everyone, ye ken?"

Isabella nodded.

"Da said it was just because he was used to having all the lasses' attention at school," he said with a fond chuckle. "I dinnae ken if that was true or no, but I dinnae really pay much attention to him."

She rose a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well," he amended, "No really no…but we were competitive enough. I did well with grades and athletics and so did he. I suppose there was sometimes, somewhat of a…a rivalry between us."

Isabella frowned.

"After Da died though, Carlisle said something about our families going further back than I thought," Edward continued. "I thought MacLeod was really just a natural born wanker. Carlisle has said a time or two that's more than just school…drama, I suppose. I think MacLeod's maw might have fancied Da at some point in time, but I dinnae ken."

She nodded, looking deep in thought.

"And to be honest, I dinnae ha' time to worry about it. Sleat had a loan with RBS way before MacLeod started – we expanded the stillhouse, ye saw on the tour with Jasper aye? After Da died and the economy slowed down, it got hard to make payments on the loan…it was a big one." He looked at her strangely then. "Well, big for us anyway."

Isabella lowered her eyes, uncomfortable.

"Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat. "As soon as small businesses started to be hit by the slow in the economy, RBS swooped in and before I knew it, Sleat's loan had tripled in size and needed to be paid back immediately."

At that, he let out a long sigh and stared straight ahead.

"No one has the money to buy whisky, either here or around the rest of the world, ye ken?" he asked, still staring without seeing. "The markets all crashed, and people thought the global economy would crash with it. Well, we might not have crashed but…but I will say…no one is making it through it unscratched, ye ken?"

Isabella joined him in staring at the unfamiliar land in front of them.

When she did speak, the words were so quiet they could have just been the wind.

"I know."

* * *

Sometimes mornings are odd after an endless night. We'll see how these two do moving forward. I doubt this is the last we'll hear from MacLeod.

Cheers to the time and thought you put in to reading and reviewing this sweet story - you are a brightness in a hectic and challenging season for me.


	11. Royal Bank of Scotland

**New York Times**

Isabella Swan Weds Jacob Black Montgomery

August 7th

Isabella M. Swan, the daughter of the late Bianca M. Swan of Palm Beach, Fla., and Charles J. Swan of New York, New York, is to be married Sunday to Jacob Montgomery, a son of Elizabeth Black Montogmery and Michael B. Montgomery of Livingston, N.J. Minister Patrick Jacobson is to officiate the ceremony taking place at the Montgomery estate in Bedminster, N.J.

The bride, 24, will continue to use her name professionally. She works in New York as the vice president for development and acquisitions at Goldman Sachs, under her father, the Chief Financial Officer at the firm since 1994. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania, Wharton School of Business.

The bridegroom, 26, is the Global Head of Structured Credit in the Investment Banking Division of Lehman Brothers. He graduated from the University of Pennsylvania, Wharton School of Business and received a Master's in Business Administration from Columbia University. The bridegroom's father, who is a founder of his family's real estate business, stepped down as the company's chairman last year, owing to his legal problems, but has since resumed his title.

* * *

The next morning found the two newlyweds on their way to Glasgow in a parade of two. Edward drove the way in the front, driving a small odd-looking vehicle that resembled a truck and Isabella followed behind in her rental vehicle that she was going to return to the Hertz dealership in Glasgow. The separation of vehicles gave each of them time to think and by extension, time to worry.

Isabella spent most of the drive through the highlands convincing herself that there would be no issues with the withdrawal. She racked her brain and thought of all of the international finance laws she was familiar with that had anything to do with the odd scenario they had found themselves in.

Her conclusion was that it _should_ work.

The problem with _should_ , is that it was a lot to base a marriage on, real or not.

When they walked out of Barclays with a cashier's check for £150,000 held in Isabella's hand, Edward let out a heavy breath and then inhaled slowly. He turned to her with a slight upward quirk of his lips and she got the feeling that it was the first real breath he had taken in months.

Isabella was feeling relieved but still rattled from an exchange with the banker they had met with. Seeing no harm is having Edward sit in the conversation with her, considering he was now her husband, she had nodded at the open seat next to her while the banker pulled up her accounts.

"Swan…Swan," the banker muttered under his breath as he moved his mouse around on his desktop.

Out of the corner of her eye she couldn't help but notice Edward's incessant leg bouncing. Both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground, but his legs were constantly moving and his whole body was tense as he sat in the high-end Barclays office in Glasgow's City Centre.

"Will this be the joint account of Swan and Mo-"

"No."

Isabella felt her heart start pounding but managed a calm, "No, it will not be."

The banker raised an eyebrow at her but then turned back to the screen, "Of course…Ms…"

"Mrs. MacDonald," she supplied with a forced friendly smile, glancing over in Edward's direction with what she hoped passed as fondness.

Edward took the cue and smiled back, reaching over and hold her hand. "Aye," he agreed.

The banker watched the exchange with a slightly raised eyebrow which was quickly lowered when Isabella turned her intent gaze back to him. After several ID checks and answers to thinly veiled questions very clearly trying to get at figuring out the situation, Isabella and Edward left with the check and envelope in her hands.

If Edward thought there was anything unusual about the exchange with the banker, he didn't say anything. Instead, he led her his car and opened the door for her before getting in the driver's side himself. "Shall we drop this off with MacLeod and then go to Sleat?" he asked.

Isabella nodded, staring ahead.

Edward seemed to recognize that she was not in a conversational mood, despite the confident and friendly woman who had just been in the bank. He frowned as he pulled out of the parking spot. She couldn't say what exactly was on his mind as he navigated the streets of Glasgow and oriented them back to the Highlands.

~O~

Their stop at the Royal Bank of Scotland was fortunately uneventful.

MacLeod, it appeared, was not in his office.

Edward provided the necessary information about the loan while Isabella spoke in a crisp, no-sense voice with the banker. The woman's eyes had widened at the check and she had glanced back and forth between them and her computer before asking them to wait one moment while she called her supervisor.

"Is that standard protocol?" Isabella asked with a raised eyebrow as the woman's hand hovered over her phone.

"I beg your pardon?" the banker had asked with exaggerated blinking.

Edward had watched Isabella curiously as she nodded at the phone.

"Is RBS actively in the habit of discouraging their customers from paying back loans in full?" Isabella asked. "That seems incredibly counterproductive."

"Well, well…well ye see, with this large of an amount, it's standard that we go through several…procedures."

"I understood most of those procedures to be in place ascounter terrorism measures related to cash not checks," Isabella said challengingly. "Furthermore, compared with other business and loans RBS does, I expect this amount is not considered 'large.' Am I wrong?"

The banker lost confidence in the face of the authority in Isabella's tone. "Well, there is a flag on the account, put by Mr. MacLeod – it says he wishes to be notified of any large repayments made to this account."

At that, Edward stood up from the chair.

"Then notify him."

"Well, um, there, there are different, um, with this being international, and with the FDI-there might be any number of reasons why this could not be processed."

Isabella stood up and reached over to take Edward's hand.

"If any of those reasons come up, you can reach us at my husband's phone number listed on the account. Until then, I think you have all that you need. Thank you for your help."

And they had walked out of RBS, hand in hand, with Sleat debt free.

If Edward had any guilt at the feeling that he was committing fraud, he ignored it admirably. She felt his focus on her as they walked, as if he was surprised by her professional tone and demeanor. There seemed to be questions on the tip of his tongue, but for whatever reason, he bit them back.

And for that she was grateful.

~O~

It was mid-afternoon by the time they returned to the Isle of Skye and pulled into Sleat Distillery.

Edward killed the engine to the car and reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Ye'll be wanting a tour then?"

"Jasper was quite thorough," she replied.

Edward nodded, "Aye."

"But perhaps we should come up with a plan to get Sleat through this recession?" she suggested.

"Oh aye," he agreed quickly. "Alright, okay, I'll show ye to our books so ye can…well see the financials I suppose."

Isabella nodded and followed him in exiting the car.

Jasper and Ian were behind the front desk when they walked into the lobby from the side entrance. Their heads both whipped up at the sound of the bell attached to the door. For a moment, Isabella could see the concern in both of their faces before they dually smoothed out.

"How'd it go?" Jasper asked cautiously, a solemn look on his face.

"Sleat lives to fight another day, lads," Edward replied, the relief in his voice evident. He clapped Jasper's back and Isabella could see his shoulders drop as if he had finally lost a heavy weight. Jasper and Ian's faced mirrored Edward's as Ian threw his arm around Edward, shaking him with a huge grin on his face.

Isabella couldn't help but crack a grin, even though she felt like an outsider in the encounter.

Jasper locked eyes with her and offered her a large smile. "And we have Bella girl to thank for everything!"

Edward followed his gaze over to his wife and offered her a smaller, equally as grateful smile.

"Aye, that we do."

And for the first time in a long time, Isabella felt her cheeks warm under their stares.

"Well, don't thank me yet," she replied dismissively, "Sleat is not out of the woods."

Anyone in her past life would have agreed – the business had a long way to go before it would be considered stable. But the men in front of her did not grow up on Wall Street like she had. They did not have experience in executive development or investment banking. They did not have training in assessing businesses and properties or managing risky investments.

This was their livelihood and for the moment, it was not going to disappear.

The realization left Isabella unable to speak.

Edward seemed to understand the most. He clapped Ian on the back and nodded. "Right, we'll be in the office if ye need me."

"I printed all of those papers ye asked for," Jasper said. "I dinnae ken what most of them mean, but they're there."

"Thank you," Isabella said with a small smile, blinking past her existentialism. She felt a growing sense of trepidation at what was waiting for her in the office.

And when her and Edward entered, that feeling was entirely justified.

Resting on the desk where Edward had been sitting when she met him three days earlier was a large cardboard box with file folders, manila envelopes and loose paper, some file clipped with small receipts, some standing alone.

Upon seeing the expression on her face, Edward winced.

"Most of it is from the past year," he explained as Isabella began to pick at some of the papers. "Da was more organized."

Isabella nodded as she looked at a random shipping invoice.

Edward bent down and pulled open a large drawer towards the bottom of the desk. The drawer was considerably more organized than the box, while the file folders organized and labeled with precise handwriting. "This is from the past eight years, I think. Most of it's from Da but some might be from Carlisle from earlier too. He can explain anything that doesn't make sense if ye run into anything."

Isabella rubbed at the side of her face as she looked at the piles in front of her. "Do you have a balance sheet?" she asked, "Or any updated consolidated financial documents?"

"Oh aye," Edward said, rubbing at the back of his neck and nodding at the box. "When the GRG stepped in a few months ago…the RBS ploy, ye'll remember? Aye, well they required updated documents as part of their 'consulting' process that was meant to turn the business around," he explained, bitterness creeping into his voice. "They'll be in there somewhere. Of course, those are from four months ago and MacLeod disagreed with how they were done, or so he said, so…I dinnae ken how helpful they'll be."

Isabella blew out a breath and lowered herself into the leather chair behind the desk.

Edward watched her face, scratching at his jaw. Other than a clear wariness at the disorganized mess in front of her, he could glean nothing of her thoughts or even regrets about what she had gotten into.

"If ye want, I can sort it out so that ye can at least make sense of it?" he offered. He stopped short of offering to explain some of the documents to her – he didn't know much about her background, but from the way she spoke, she was not a novice when it came to financials.

"Thank you, but that's alright," she replied.

"Right, okay," he agreed. "Well, I suppose I'll let ye get…acquainted with Sleat then, and I'll be in the still house if ye need me, aye?"

Isabella nodded, staring down at a different invoice date three weeks ago.

"Right, well, I'll leave ye to it then."

~O~

As it turned out, Sleat did not have a business plan.

Isabella spent four hours sorting all of the documents in the box into general categories and knew she had plenty of sorting left to do, but as she identified and categorized documents, she started to piece together the fact that Sleat was struggling both because of the economic slowdown but also because of a business model that had been successful in the 1900's but did not allow them to compete in 2008.

Beyond those concerns, she did have to admit that MacLeod was correct in accusing Sleat of having improperly done statements. Once she extracted the statements out of the box and did a cursory glance over them, she identified several glaring errors that made her wince upon seeing. It had been awhile since some of her International Finance courses, but she was easily and repeatedly identifying errors.

Next to her sat a notebook of random scribblings, including an increasingly growing to-do list and several observations about some of the documents she was looking at. She had barely managed to sort the papers into stacks when there was a knock on the door. Isabella looked up at the clock in surprise to see how much time had passed since Edward had left her alone in the space.

A head of ginger colored hair popped into the office after the knock.

"How are ye coming along then?" he asked, pleasantly but a guarded tone to his voice.

Isabella looked at the stacks in front of her and maintained a neutral expression.

"That bad, aye?"

She made a note to work on her neutral.

"It's a start," she replied.

Edward's lips quirked up. "Aye. Were ye getting hungry at all?" he asked. "Esme called and mentioned she could use a wee bit of help cleaning up from the festivities at the Isles."

Isabella nodded her consent, perking up at the thought of seeing the Englishwoman.

Edward opened stepped forward to open the door further for her. "And by the looks of it, ye could use a good dram."

Isabella blew out a breath and locked eyes with him. "I daresay you're right, MacDonald."

Upon arriving at Isles Inn, they learned that Esme simply needed a few of the extra tables that had been brought in for the festivities to be put back in a storage shed. Edward and Jasper got to work immediately, leaving Esme and Isabella relatively alone in the pub. There were a few patrons by the fireplace, but they had full pints and were deep in conversation.

She was surprised by how familiar it was to be in the pub. The atmosphere was warm and cozy and welcoming in a way that made her shoulders relax, just the slightest.

"Good to see you, love," Esme had said when the three of them entered the inn. Isabella let the older English woman hug her, unknowingly leaning into the embrace.

"Come, sit down with me," she invited warmly. "Can I get you anything to drink? Whisky? Beer? Wine?"

Isabella shook her head and waved a thanks.

Off to the side Edward and Jasper figured out how to fit the table through the door frame. Isabella heard Jasper say a string of words that must have been Gaelic, and she would have wagered them to be profane in nature.

Isabella took the seat at the table Esme gestured to. As she sat down, she saw that it was covered with various different slips of paper. Unable to keep her eyes from wandering, she read a few lines on what looked like an invoice. It was dated from Saturday and had several late fees in addition to large amounts of alcohol with large prices accordingly on the right.

Their wedding.

Esme sat down and promptly gathered all of the papers, an air of embarrassment in the way she hastily collected them all.

"Please tell me once you have the total cost from Saturday," Isabella said calmly, "And I will write a check."

"Oh love," she waved dismissively, "Don't trouble yourself."

"It was….it was our wedding," she attempted to vehemently disagree but found herself stumbling over the words and in fact the notion that she was married. "That's not your financial burden. We will pay for it."

It had been a simple wedding – she hesitated to call it small as she was still fairly certain that most of the island had been packed into the inn – and as such, shouldn't have cost a tremendous amount of money. But anyone who had ever planned any wedding knew there were still enormous costs associated with food and alcohol.

Esme was shaking her head as she replied firmly, "We are Edward's godparents. We will make it work somehow."

But Isabella could see some apprehension slip into her eyes as she glanced down at the bills.

"But we-"

"Bella…I know this is all so frightfully unfamiliar to you, and I do not fault you in the least for that. That being said, I find myself in the position to likely have a better understanding of Edward's finances than yourself. The past few months have been…tough. For all of us in a lot of ways. But Edward has been hit hard…he hasn't the funds to contribute and Carlisle and I don't want him to. We will find a way to cover this."

Isabella had so many thoughts trying to make their way out of her mouth that she found herself, not for the first time, saying nothing at all.

Esme smiled lightly. "Once you become a parent, you become quite used to taking care of others. It's an odd part of your human nature that comes out of you."

 _It doesn't come out of everyone._

The thought slipped in and out of her mind.

"Besides…what you're doing with the distillery? That is much more important than these bills. Sleat has been Carlisle's livelihood for…20 years. Jasper's ever since he's been old enough. Both of them find work elsewhere when they can but…" she trailed off with a helpless sort of shrug, a _what can you do_? gesture.

Edward and Jasper walked back into the inn, laughing. Isabella watched as they easily picked up the next large table and Edward made a snarky comment about Jasper's lack of spatial reasoning. As they moved, she was glad her new husband couldn't see her stare and permitted her the opportunity to see him perhaps a little more clearly.

A wee bit later, Edward could hear the steady sounds of his aunt and Isabella chatting companionably over some glasses of wine. While the conversation was admittedly being dominated by the British accent, he heard her soft American voice every once in a while.

Alice was back in the kitchen, either tidying or cooking, he wasn't sure. She had given him a hug when she saw him. He has asked when she was coming back home, but she had merely chuckled and said she wouldn't dream of intruding on the "honeymooners."

He couldn't hear everything the two women nearby were saying, nor was he trying, but it sounded like Esme was telling her which places on Skye drew the most tourists and at what times, occasionally pausing to ask if Edward had showed her upon learning of his tour guiding the previous day. He felt eyes on his back but didn't turn as he nursed his Tennent's Lager.

"Annnnd Maw's found a new best friend," Jasper commented with a role of his eyes. He was sitting next to Edward at the bar, drinking his own beer and exchanging flirtatious comments with Fiona here and there.

At that, Edward did glance over at the two women. Esme was gesticulating with wide eyes as Isabella listened and smiled. His aunt had always been a story teller – if anything it had only become more pronounced when she moved to Scotland, according to her husband.

He returned to his pint. "Aye," he agreed non-committedly.

That apparently was not the response his cousin was looking for.

The blonde eyed him suspiciously.

"How are the two of ye getting on then?" he asked.

"Fine," he replied, lifting his beer. "Given the circumstances."

Jasper was evidently not convinced.

"Ye two looked like a right pair on yer wedding. Happy with each other," he commented. "Not so much anymore."

Edward raised an eyebrow, annoyance and Scots slipping into his tone. "With all of mae friends and kin watching mae every move? Aye, we best have looked like a right pair at the wedding."

"All of that was show?" he pressed. "All of it? I saw ye, mate."

"Good for ye, ye numpty. Yer maw will be pleased yer eyes work."

Jasper ignored the sour tone in his voice.

"She's bonnie."

"Aye, she is."

Jasper opened his mouth, but Edward continued.

"And she is busy helping with Sleat. This is a business agreement. No more and no less."

His cousin finally picked up on the edge in his tone, recognizing that his prompting was firmly pressing on a nerve.

"The lass has a nice arse," he commented as he took another drink.

There was an audible thwap and Jasper's beer ended up on him his shirt.

"Oi! Whit was that for?!"

"Haud yer wheesht! Pretend or no, the lass is still mae wife."

Jasper's mouth threatened to turn up into a grin, but Edward had already turned back to his beer in annoyance and an apparent end to the conversation.

Jasper lifted what was left of his beer to his lips, the glass hiding his smirk.

* * *

Cheers to you all. Hoping your autumn season is filled with gratitude and peace.


	12. Successful

" _Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you…_ "

Isabella laughed as Jake sang to her as they swayed back and forth to the sound of Elvis. He curled his lip up in an Elvis manner as he did so before spinning her around and then pulling her into him.

"God, you are so fucking beautiful," he breathed once he had her tucked into him.

Isabella smiled at the compliment.

"I am one lucky son of a bitch," he grinned, leaning down to plant a kiss on her lips.

A collective aww came from a group of women watching their first dance off to the side of the dance floor. The Black Montgomery estate had been transformed from a beautiful backyard to a stunning wedding venue. There were white flowers and twinkling lights everywhere the eye could see.

"Your mother really outdid herself," Isabella commented, looking around the fairy tale space.

Jake kissed her template. "She only wanted the best for you, babe."

Isabella shook her head to herself, still somewhat shell shocked at the space. The decorators that their parents had spent thousands on did not disappoint. All of the green was perfectly sculpted and manicured, all of the lights and flowers in perfect placement. The Montgomery estate in the background was bathed in a soft golden light, giving the whole expansive yard a beautiful glow.

The Washington Post and New York Times had sent photographers to capture the beautiful estate and the wedding of one of America's wealthiest and youngest bachelors, Jake Montgomery. Since she was a daughter of Wall Street in her own right, the Swans and Montgomerys had pulled out all of the stops to impress their extensive guest list.

" _Some things are just meant to be_ ," he sang, somewhat tone deft but with a goofy grin on his face that made her chuckle. "They sure are."

The strands of Elvis eventually faded, and the DJ took over. "And now, Mr. Swan will share a dance with his one and only daughter if Jacob will let her go for a few moments." Jake playfully grabbed her waist while everyone watching laughed. "Just a few moments," the DJ laughed.

Isabella's dad came over and Jake gave him a handsome smile and a firm handshake.

"Shall we?" her dad asked, holding out his open hands. She nodded and took his hands.

Mr. Swan, a man of wealth and prominence, knew how to hold his own on the dance floor. He expertly twirled her around and swayed perfectly with the beat while everyone watching was charmed by the display of affection between father and daughter.

"Have you said hello to Senator Clinton yet?" he asked lowly when the song slowed to a verse.

Isabella looked around, seeing if she could spot the New York senator. "No, I have not had the chance."

"I will go with you after this," he informed her. "Goldman Sachs needs her support with this new bill making its way through the House right now."

"Okay," she agreed.

"Alan Greenspan is over there by the bar," he informed her, nodding in the direction of the Chairman of the Federal Reserve. "I'll introduce you afterwards."

Isabella had caught sight of Sandy flirting with one of Jake's ushers and gave her a laugh when she noticed. Her father frowned. "Isabella, are you even listening?"

She looked back at him and nodded. "Clinton and Greenspan. Could President Bush not make the trip then?" she asked wryly.

"Mr. Montgomery says he sends his regards and wishes you well. He had a state dinner this evening."

Isabella raised her eyebrows but lowered them at her father's sharp glance. She was on stage tonight, the pretty daughter of Charles Swan and the beautiful new wife of Wall Street's next big thing, golden boy Jacob Montgomery.

"Your husband gets it," he commented lowly after spinning her.

Isabella followed his gaze over to where Jake was standing with the CEO of Goldman Sachs, laughing and charming him like old friends. He was a natural born networker and after about 30 seconds into a conversation with a potential business connection, they seemed like they were best friends.

"You did well with him," he told her sincerely. "You two will be successful together."

* * *

She was quiet again.

Always so damn quiet.

Edward unlocked the door and pulled it back, standing by to let Bella in before him. The house had been empty since they had left for Glasgow in the early morning and there was a chill to it. He set down his keys and started to turn on the lights as a start.

"I can make a fire," he offered. "If ye like."

She looked reluctant to shed her winter coat as she slowly unzipped it.

"Whatever you want," she said, even with a noticeable shiver slipping down her spine.

Edward studied her for a brief moment, trying for the hundredth time to understand her. She noticed and averted her eyes, quickly uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Would ye like more wine? I have that same stuff ye were drinking with Esme, it's her favorite…I'm sure she mentioned such to ye. I think it's from Austria – good stuff. I get it from the Isles shipment when it comes in, Carlisle brings it over."

He was rambling and he knew it.

"No, that's alright," she replied.

"Anything else I could get ye?" he offered with a slight smile. "Ye are in the home of a whisky distiller, so we have no wee bit of that, but I ken we have got some Kopparberg's and some Tennent's if any of that would interest ye more."

She once again shook her head.

"I'm okay, thanks."

Admittedly, his heart fell at that.

It was not truly his intent to get her drunk. That in itself was a horrible thought to him that anyone would do that with a lass in an unknown land and he was uncomfortable considering that that was anywhere near his intent.

But she was softer, lighter when she was a wee bit drunk on their wedding night. She laughed and teased and had a warm rosy blush across her cheeks. She said the word lovely too much and she had curiosity in her eyes and a soft smile that settled onto her cheeks when she was listening.

She had positively charmed him.

It couldn't have been a great production for her. She had been effortless.

It had been her.

But the day before the wedding and the days after had been much different.

She held herself in a controlled, distant manner. She was polite, never rude or standoffish. But certainly withdrawn, as if there was a part of her, a large part, that she was hiding behind an invisible wall.

And he felt certain that his night with her had been the real her, even though the evidence would point to that just being a drunk woman, nothing more.

"Did ye want to watch anything on the television?" he offered, nodding at the box in the corner. "I can show ye how to use if ye like. They play some American shows here and there that we might be able to find."

She wrapped her arms around herself, coat still on.

"I appreciate it, but I'm good."

Edward nodded, maintaining a neutral expression.

"Actually, it's been a long day," she said. "I think I will be going to sleep."

"Aye, right of course."

He mentally calculated the amount of clean clothing he had left from what he had grabbed when he had vacated the room for her. By his counts, he had at least two days left of underwear before he would have to clear out more of his stuff.

"Did ye need anything at all?" he asked.

At that, Bella offered him a small smile. It was the first smile that held any emotion in it all day, and he was surprised to see a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"Thank you, Edward. I'm okay."

He was staying in the house's third bedroom, the smaller one that had been Alice's when she was younger, before she had moved into Edward and Emmett's old room when their da had died. She had insisted that he moved into their father's room, claiming it was the biggest and the bed was more comfortable, and she would feel safer with him in the room closest to the door. Whether the last bit had been true, or a bit of manipulation solely aimed at removing him from his upstairs room, he still was unsure.

After a few nights in the room, he could certainly see why she had wanted to move. It was a corner room, with old, drafty windows on each wall. It was the furthest from the central heating of the house and it was drafty. The windows had needed to be replaced with higher quality ones for years, but they hadn't had the money.

It had a twin bed, a small desk, and a dresser. The floor boards creaked under his weight and he cringed at the noise that sounded so loud to his own ears. If he laid straight, his feet hung off the end of the bed. But it was too narrow for him to really curl up on his side. And Alice apparently had not been exaggerating when she said the mattress felt like it was filled with cold, dead fish.

He would never have dreamed of giving his new wife this bedroom.

It was a cold and lonely room, neglected in a way that the rest of the cozy house wasn't.

He still knew so little about her, but he'd be damned if what she needed was cold, lonely, and neglected.

So, he settled into his bed with few complaints in his consciousness. He had found some of the extra quilts Esme had sent with them last winter, a hobby of hers. They were heavy and succeeded in keeping him warm and making the room seem not so bad at all.

As he closed his eyes and his thoughts began to go in every which way, he felt a longing for a familiarity that went along with his bedroom. But as he drowsily examined that line of thought, his longing was not for his queen-sized bed with a better mattress and a warm lamp situated near it.

No, he felt a curious but increasingly familiar ache for what was in the bed.

He didn't understand it, but he knew he wanted to understand her. He wanted to better understand the daring, smart, stubborn, beautiful woman who he was sharing a roof with. He wanted to understand her so he knew how to make her happy…or at the very least content.

For reasons he had yet to fully understand, she had given up her money, her time, and her body…her everything.

He wanted to give her anything he could, a small sum in exchange for all she had done.

When she had retired for the night, he had stayed up. He had felt restless, even after the day they had had. He moved some furniture for the hell of it and aggressively cleaned the kitchen, careful to be quiet with both of his self-appointed tasks. He took his frustration out on grime and rust that accumulated in the far reaches of the kitchen.

If he were being honest with himself, his frustration almost certainly stemmed from all of the confusion he felt about the entire situation.

The confusion and the hurt.

The hurt came from the feeling of rejection as Isabella closed herself off to him.

He wasn't sure if she regretted taking him into her bed, but it was damn sure starting to feel like it. His pride was hurt at the possibility that he might be a horrible lover, which again if he was being honest with himself, was certainly not out of the realm of possibility given how new he was to the game.

But a deeper part of him was hurt and confused at the notion that it hadn't just been his actions but _himself_ that warranted regret on her part.

Was it the type of man he was to take advantage of a vulnerable, drunk woman?

Had that been how she viewed it the next morning?

He paused.

Was she _wrong_ if she viewed it that way?

Edward didn't realize he was scrubbing at a patch that had disappeared minutes ago.

When he had finally started to feel his tired limbs, he had finished scrubbing the sink and then turned off the lights and headed down the main hallway on the first floor. When he walked by the master bedroom, there was a sliver of light shining through the door. The warm lighting of the lamp must have been flooding the room.

He frowned realizing that she was still awake.

It had been two hours ago that she had wanted to go to bed.

With a sigh, he had continued past the room to his room.

It hadn't occurred to him that she would have heard his footsteps coming down the hallway and pausing in front of her door.

~O~

In the wee hours of morning, there was not a light on in the house lying in the scattered hamlet of Fasach on the Duirinish peninsula of the Isle of Skye.

The house stood resolute against the chill of the November night.

Yet each of the occupants lie awake.

Him with his growing feel of regret.

Her with her ghosts.

* * *

I know it was a small update, but there is a certain cadence to this past and present business that necessitates it. Upcoming chapters will be longer.

Into November we go, trying our best and searching for gratitude. Thank you for all your love through every season.


	13. Seafood

Isabella did not get to stay until the last dance of her wedding.

In the middle of the dancing, her new husband had disappeared. She was too busy being introduced to prominent bankers, businessmen, and lawyers with her father to notice that he was gone. Other than their first dance, she had not danced with him, and instead been networking and nursing a single glass of white wine for the better part of two hours. As she continued to accept congratulations on behalf of her and her husband, she began to wonder where he had gone off to.

"Go find him," her father finally instructed. "There is one Congressman I would like you to meet, and Jacob should meet him too."

With a polite smile and nod, she turned and went towards the large estate. With a quick glance around to see that no one was watching, she swallowed back the rest of her wine and set the empty glass on a tray a waiter was walking around with.

Sandy was looking for her inside. "Oh, there you are! Jake wants you upstairs in your room," she told her hurriedly.

Isabella nodded, hiking up the giant puffy white dress she was wearing and making her way up the grand staircase. It took her a few moments to get upstairs from the sheer weight of the dress and height of the heels. Mrs. Montgomery had designed it with Vera Wang, and it was a beautiful custom-made gown, but it was also extraordinarily heavy.

Jake's younger brother Tom opened the door as soon as she knocked. "Oh, there you are!"

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Is that Isabella? Isabella, baby? Isabella, I need you."

Isabella exchanged a glance with Tom before pushing past him and going to the bathroom, where Jake was sitting on the ground, his head resting on the toilet seat. His college buddy, Bollig was next to him, smoking a cigar. The smoke had settled in the bathroom in a haze that made Isabella scrunch up her nose.

"I got it from here," she told him as he took a puff. "Go outside with Tom."

"That's why he loves you!" Bollig laughed, hoping off the sink where he had been perched. "See you later Jakey-boy!"

"Isabella," he mumbled in a groan. "Isabella, baby, I need you."

With a sigh, Isabella squatted down next to her pale husband. "I'm here," she said.

"God, you're still so hot," he breathed, looking over at her before closing his eyes. "I can't wait to get you out of the dress and into something nice and ti-"

His thought was interrupted by a bout of vomit pushing up his throat. "Toilet!" she cried, holding his head to make sure that he got it in the water and nowhere else in the beautiful white bathroom.

Jake was so drunk that he couldn't even hold up his own head she soon realized. With a heavy sigh, she kicked off her heels and tried to maneuver into a squat so that she could be low enough to hold up his heavy head as his stomach repelled its contents. Close as she was to him, she could smell the booze and cigar smoke that had settled on him.

"Did you notice that Madison didn't show up?" he commented in a slur after he stopped throwing up. "That fucking bastard."

Isabella didn't comment on the fact that the President of Harvard had not shown up.

Jake started hiccupping.

"Fuck I feel like shit," he muttered through the hiccups.

"How much did you have?" Isabella asked, her lips in a tight line.

"How the fuck am I suppose to know," he muttered, trying to drop his head against the toilet.

Isabella let out a sigh and settled onto the bathroom floor as he alternated between throwing up and complaining about various aspects of their wedding day that had not gone the way they were supposed to. "My steak was cold by the time I got it," he complained in a moan at one point.

Shortly after that, Isabella was fairly certain that he had nothing left to throw up and tried to get him to go into his giant four poster bed and get some sleep.

"No, no, no. Stop!" he refused. "I'm staying right here. Leave me the hell alone."

With another sigh, Isabella finally let him be, curled up on the bathroom floor in his expensive tux. She washed the heavy amounts of makeup off of her face and then tried to get out of her dress.

It was expertly laced and knotted and she couldn't reach where the knot was. With tears of frustration coming to her eyes, she couldn't bring herself to leave the room where everyone believed they were in newfound marital bliss to ask someone else to help her get out of the giant gown. And as much as she wiggled and twisted, she could not get out of the mass of white silk.

Eventually she settled down on the bed alone with her giant gown and closed her eyes, spending her wedding night in broken fits of sleep.

~O~

In the next few days, Isabella fell into a rhythm.

The days had begun with her waking from a restless sleep, hardly rested but stubborn enough to open her eyes and get on with the day. The Scots, in general, were a bit slower to rise than investment bankers on Wall Street and preferred to start their day well after 9am.

By the time she had showered and dressed, Edward would have breakfast cooked and waiting for her. He had got in the habit of having a mug of coffee in his hand, ready to hand to her when she entered the kitchen to sit down. She would take it with a grateful nod, and he would smile at her in return.

After breakfast they would get into his car and drive the brief distance over to the distillery. Edward would walk with her to the office, which had begun to look like a war room of sorts and leave her there with an offer to assist her and an uncertain nod when she politely declined the offer.

The process would be reversed around dinner time when they left for the day.

While there was a semblance of routine, she still felt off-balance.

Their wedding night had succeeded in stirring up emotions and thoughts which had been so easy for her to bury and keep buried.

The window in the office had a view of the loch that the distillery was on. It was a small enough lake that if there was not a lot of wind, it was still and would reflect the highlands surrounding it. More than a few times she had gotten caught staring out to the water, getting lost.

She was resoundingly and horribly stuck.

She was being pushed so harshly into the past, into memories that grew darker the more she pondered them. They were holding her hostage, not allowing her to do anything other than relive and reconsider so much of what she had thought was certain.

On the other side of the coin, there was a lure, a pull – to the now, and to the future. On her wedding night, dancing and drinking with friends and family she had never met, she had been content – so content that it took her breath away to consider.

There was a pull to the lively British woman and her husband and son.

There was a pull to the boisterous cousins who she could hear down the hallway, greeting the few guests.

There was a pull to the man who looked at her with kind eyes and constantly tried to make sure she had everything she needed and was fed.

There was a pull to the night they had shared, drunk or not.

But the push was just as strong and much darker.

It was a constant battle in her mind, a battle she felt a spectator to, rather than a general with any control.

The battle overwhelmed her, consumed her energy, and left her paralyzed.

At night, alone in her bed, the push won every time. It shoved her into the past so hard that she felt whiplash.

And it made her so angry.

Hot, furious tears leaked out of her eyes more nights than not because she was powerless to stop the onslaught from her life and because she did not want to think of all that she had been.

Away from it all, all of the money and all of the greed, she could see clearly.

And as she examined what had been her life, she was mad.

She had not been all of the woman she had so desperately wanted to be.

Not the woman she planned to be. Not the woman she was raised to be.

It got hard to breathe when she dwelled on this line of thought too much.

What would her grandparents have said?

The thought echoed and rippled across the battle day in and day out.

The reason it got hard to breathe is because she knew what they would have said.

And she had never disappointed them while they were alive.

It was hard to realize she had done it in their death.

Despite all of the chaos she was regularly paralyzed with, she attempted to bury herself into the work, and at times, she was quite successful. Hours would pass as she lost herself in all of the documents that told the story of the Scotch distillery and the moon would chase the sun away before she could even notice.

However, she still felt as if she had made no progress.

On Friday, marking the one-week anniversary of her arrival on the Isle of Skye, there was a knock on the office door around lunch time.

"Come in," she called when it was clear the knock was asking permission rather than a warning that the door was about to be opened.

Edward walked in with a decently sized cardboard takeaway box in his hands.

"Ye'll remember the advice I got about it being good practice to keep yer wife fed," he said sheepishly, holding out the container.

Isabella rubbed at her template tiredly but was powerless to resist giving him a smile.

Edward came over to the desk and set the container in front of her. Curious, she opened it. An entire array of seafood greeted her: mussels, scallops, crab, oysters, prawns, and what looked to be smoked salmon. It was so full that a prawn fell onto the desk upon her opening it.

"I was no sure if you liked seafood or no," he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he gestured to the food. "If ye prefer something else, it's no a problem."

"Thank you," she replied. "This looks wonderful."

Edward nodded and then turned to leave.

A small sound of protest slipped out of her lips, making him turn and face her in confusion.

"This is too much food for one person!" she exclaimed before she could help herself.

Edward blinked in surprise.

"Ah, well," he started, "Ye are so tiny I figured ye could use it."

Ignoring the urge to consider whether or not he was right, she raised an eyebrow. "Did whoever gave you the advice about keeping your wife fed mention anything about keeping comments about her weight to yourself?"

A slow smirk spread across Edward's face.

"No, they must have forgot to mention that one," he allowed.

Isabella looked pointedly at the food and then at the chair in front of the desk.

It was a matter of mere moments before Edward was sitting in the chair in front of her and they had silently but mutually established which area of the container was for shells and the inedible parts of the seafood. Isabella knew she was hogging the prawns and avoiding the oysters, but Edward didn't seem to mind, easily scooping up the latter.

Their silence was companionable as they ate. Isabella was completely enjoying the food and the reprieve the distraction had provided her and didn't even notice Edward's eyes wandering around the desk.

"Ooch!" he grunted in that odd Scottish noise. " _That_ is yer to-do list?"

Isabella followed his gaze to the sheet of paper that she had started writing in the margins of and winced. When she looked at him, there was a stubbornness in his eyes.

"Surely there is something I can do to be of use, Bella."

Isabella bit into the scallop, not immediately replying.

While she admired him and certainly admired the whisky he produced, she was wary of his usefulness related to anything requiring a sense of business acumen.

As if reading her mind, he replied, "Something that does not involve configuring cash flow."

Isabella took the second bite of the scallop and then wiped her fingers on one of the brown napkins on the nearby stack. She glanced down at her list and then up at him, seeing the determined expression in his eyes.

In the past few days, Edward had grown quieter around her. She may have been caught up in all that she was dealing with, but she was still a keen observer. He still smiled and made sure she was fed at any given time, but his attempts to draw her into conversation had become sparse in nature. She worried it was because of how poor of a conversationalist she had been lately.

Upon seeing his determined glance and concluding that she had no conceivable reason to push him to any further unhappiness, she conceded.

"I need to sort all of that," she said, looking at the two boxes that were jammed to the brim with documents. "Not only by year but by the type of statement, whether it be an expense for the supplies or a bank statement or even a supplier invoice from one of the wholesalers. I skimmed it and there was no rhyme or reason to any of it."

"Well," Edward reasoned evenly, "I do suppose that is my mess to clean up."

When Isabella had nothing to say in response, Edward picked up a mussel. Before plopping it into his mouth looked at her seriously, saying, "I will help ye with whatever ye need, Bella."

A few hours into their afternoon, Jasper appeared with two glasses of whisky. "Hey boss man – and boss lady," he added with a grin and a nod to Isabella. "Da said if yer doing office work that I should bring ye this."

Edward smirked but took the proffered glass. When he turned to Isabella and saw that she was about to refuse, he stopped her. "He thought ye might no be inclined and told me to remind you of the magical properties whisky has to…to get the creative juices going."

Isabella raised her eyebrows and looked at him and his earnest grin. With a roll of her eyes, she held out of her hand for the dram. Her grandfather had said some similar exaggeration about the usefulness of whisky, and it made her smile to think of it.

As he was finishing his dram and working at making sense of the hundreds of random papers in front of him, Edward started humming. Isabella looked up in surprise when the noise started, but he didn't see her and continued to hum while he worked.

After a few minutes Isabella offered with a wry grin, "You can put on some music if you would like."

Edward looked up, startled.

"Oh? Och, I'm sorry. Dinnae even realize I was doing it."

Isabella nodded at the radio in the corner of the room. "I don't mind."

"Ah, awright then, if ye like."

The BBC Gaelic radio filled the room as they worked, playing a mix of new and old music, some of which Isabella recognized and most of which she was unfamiliar with. Truth be told, she wasn't paying much attention to the music, so absorbed she was with her thoughts as she worked.

As had become a habit for her, she would occasionally glance out to the lake as it always reminded her of home, of summers with her grandparents on the nearby lake. She didn't even realize she had gotten so caught up in thinking about them until she recognized that there was extra noise in the office.

Edward was singing.

He was tapping his fingers on the side of the filing box, singing quietly and with an embellished Scottish accent along with The Proclaimers as he stared at the document in front of him.

" _I would walk 500 miles and I walk 500 more, just to be the man that_ …"

Suddenly he trailed off when he noticed that she was looking in his direction.

"Oh," he said, stretching out the "ooo" in the short word. "Sorry," he apologized.

Isabella grinned slightly. "Don't stop on my account."

He didn't immediately start singing again and instead had a shy smile on his face. "Every barin born in Scotland kens that song."

"Don't Stop Believing in America is the same way."

"Aye?" he asked.

"Aye," she said, a playful and shy grin on her face.

The chorus came back around and Edward joined the Scottish singers with a grin. " _Just to be the man that walked a thousand miles_ …"

Isabella couldn't stop the laugh that left her mouth as he continued to embellish his Scottish accent to sing. Edward looked at her in a pleased sort of surprise when he heard the laugh and quickly turned his eyes back to the box but continued to sing with just a little bit more enthusiasm as he picked up another stack.

When the "Da da da – da da da" call and response started, Isabella had to discreetly cover her mouth, as he shifted from side to side, singing each the call and the response with a wiggling of his head and shoulders. His lips were quirked up into a smile as he sang, encouraged by the sweet sound of her quiet giggles.

Following The Proclaimers, several older, more traditional songs came on. Much to her surprise, Edward hummed along with many of them, clearly recognizing the melody. He sang along with all of the words to "I Belong to Glasgow," again swaying his head back and forth as he did so.

Isabella tried not to stare, but the way he sang from his belly and embellished his Scottish accent was surprisingly charming, not to mention entertaining.

If he minded her attention, he did not say so.

" _But when I get a couple of drinks on a Saturday, Glasgow belongs to meeeeee_."

"Maw loved that song," he explained once the strands of the song faded into a broadcaster's voice. "This whole bloody station actually. It was always on around the house, used to drive me crazy."

"She was from Glasgow, right?"

Edward nodded. "Aye. Not only was she from there, but she used to sing that song to my da, saying she belonged to Glasgow, whether she liked it or not."

"And he left Skye for her?" she surmised.

Edward smiled fondly.

"Aye," he replied conspiringly, "I dinnae think anything less than Maw could have moved him from Skye. But he would ha' done anything for her." A wistful smile came over his face as he thought about his parents.

Isabella smiled too.

"Maw knew it too," he added, "told Collette to never settle for anything less in a lad."

The smile did not immediately fade from Isabella's face, but she felt the urge to frown.

The man across from her had been brought up in a family with parents that adored each other. He likely had plans and dreams of the family he would have, based on the way he spoke about them. And here she was, once again feeling horribly unworthy, not really fitting into those dreams and not really even remembering her own dreams.

Long ago, they had been similar to his, she was sure of it.

She had wanted a love like the love she saw between her grandparents.

She had wanted that household filled with laughter and warmth.

But somewhere along the way, she had lost that.

* * *

A different look into a wedding night that seemed charming in the previous chapter.

Small conversations, small steps forward?

All of my love and gratitude to you for following along in this tale.


	14. Mourning

"Once again we'd like to extend a welcome to all of you and thank you again for choosing Delta airlines. We have finished boarding anyone who needs assistance and now would like to extend an invitation for anyone in our First-Class Zone A to begin boarding."

Isabella looked wistfully over to the gate next to where several business travelers had stood up and moved towards the desk to scan their tickets. They still have 45 minutes before their flight to Tahiti would begin to board their seats in first class.

Next to her, Jake was nursing a tall black coffee. He had his arm lazily resting on her chair, one ankle resting on the other knee, sunglasses rested on the top of his head. Even though he was drinking the coffee, there was no sign of exhaustion on his face, no tired eyes or pale complexion.

Isabella on the other hand, felt exhausted. After their wedding yesterday and all of the time she spent taking care of Jake before attempting to pass out stuck in her wedding dress, she hadn't managed really any sleep at all. Her hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head and her face felt droopy and tired. She hadn't put makeup on because her eyes were dry and itchy and from some of her tears from the night before and she kept rubbing them. Jake had raised an eyebrow when he saw her but wisely kept his mouth closed.

"So close to a week on the beach, Mrs. Montgomery," Jake said, cupping one of her shoulders and giving her a small shake with a big smile.

Despite her sour mood, she cracked a reluctant smile at the site of his earnest dimples.

When she didn't have an exuberant response, his smile dropped fractionally. "Everything alright with you, babe?"

Isabella raised an eyebrow, the smile fading.

Was he seriously asking?

"I suppose you could say I'm not thrilled about the fact that you tried to drink yourself into oblivion on the night celebrating our eternal bliss."

Jake laughed, unbothered by her tone.

"That's bothering you? Sorry about that babe, but I don't usually throw up."

Again, Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on," he said with good humor, "I haven't since college."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Jake grinned and amended, "Well, okay, I suppose I haven't thrown up since _you_ were in college anyway."

Again, Isabella raised a dubious eyebrow.

"I'm sorry I was occupied but it's not like it was a real wedding night, not really."

"What?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," he snorted, "It's not like we haven't been fucking for years."

Isabella's lips pursed in distaste at his crude phrasing.

"Come on Mrs. Montgomery," he said, hugging her into his side, ignoring her resistance. "Are you going to spend our one and only honeymoon annoyed at me for something so small? Even if I promise to make it up to you?"

~O~

Later that night, after some help from Jasper (who promised to be right behind them) in convincing his bride, the two of them wound up at Isles Inn.

Alice was at the bar to greet them when they entered.

"Oh! Thank Heavens yer here!" she exclaimed. Her ginger hair was twisted in a knot on top of her head with several strands escaping to frame her flushed face.

"Fiona got sick and Esme is still on her way back from Inverness. Bella, do ye know how to cook?" When Isabella did not immediately answer she added impatiently, "Anything? Do ye know how to cook anything at all?"

"Somewhat," she replied vaguely.

"I can help ye Alice, what do ye need?" Edward interjected.

"I need ye at the bar," she said and then nodded at Isabella, "And I need ye in kitchen. _Somewhat_ will have to do."

"Alice, yer up to high doh, ye wee ba-"

"Coming," Isabella said, cutting off his Scottish tanget and moving behind the bar to follow her into the kitchen.

Edward growled under his breath but obligingly took his newly appointed place behind the bar. He had been looking forward to dinner with her after the nice afternoon they had shared at Sleat. Instead, he had somehow been doomed to an evening of customer service and no dinner in the immediate future.

He would occasionally hear some of his sister's directives from the kitchen. She was a bossy wee thing and always had been. His mother had called her personality "assertive," to put it lightly. While he could tell she was overwhelmed to be running the place by herself on a Friday, he did not appreciate her using any type of tone with Isabella and was about to go back and say something until he heard Isabella's crisp reply.

"When I said I _somewhat_ knew how to cook, I did hope you would at least take that to mean I was competent enough to chop up a chicken without losing an appendage or ruining the meat."

Edward grinned when his sister did not have a discernible response.

There were a fair number of patrons coming into the inn, most of which were locals, though there was still a number of tourists who had braved the off season and were seeking refuge from the chilly weather at the inn. He poured their pints and their whisky, took down their orders for Alice and chatted with some of the locals. He even tossed a bone treat to Blaze, the fire rescue dog who was as much a regular as the best of them.

Alice popped out to bring out the food and grab the orders he had taken, a few more strands falling out of her bun every time she appeared.

"Yer not working her too hard, I hope?" he asked one of the times she passed by.

Alice rolled her eyes. "It's the opposite. Yer wife is as stubborn as a mule. Bossy too."

Edward shook his head at the way his sister could say such a thing as a compliment.

A new patron had taken a seat at the bar, so he went over to set a coaster in front of him. He recognized the older man with dark hair and a salt and pepper beard. He couldn't remember the name or why he knew him, but he looked familiar enough for Edward to give him a smile of recognition and greeting.

"What can we get for ye today?" he asked, setting down a coaster in front of him.

"The gold brew will do," he said, nodding to where the tap was.

Edward nodded and went to pour the pint of the local brew they carried. "Anything else for ye at the moment?"

The man shook his head as Edward sat down the drink in front of him.

"Heard there was a wedding here last weekend," he commented as he took a drink of the beer.

Edward, familiar with how news traveled in small communities, usually would be unfazed by this but given the sensitive nature of the topic, frowned at this comment. "Aye, Saturday."

"Does Isles host a lot of weddings? Can't seem to remember too many."

Before Edward could reply, Alice had popped out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup on a tray. "Edward, can ye take this to Mrs. Brown? Table 4?"

"Aye," he agreed, nodding to the man and then going to do as Alice requested.

It was a few minutes before he was back near the familiar but unknown man who had taken a seat next to the tap, making any encounters with him unavoidable.

"Yer Edward MacDonald?" he asked.

"Aye," he replied.

The man smiled and raised his glass slightly. "Ah, it was yer nuptials then. Congratulations to ye and yer wife are in order, are they no?"

"Thank ye," Edward said with a tight smile.

"It's been the talk of the isle for the entire week," he said with a chuckle.

Edward did not reply immediately but the man seemed to be waiting. "Aye, people certainly talk."

"Well can ye blame them?" he said good naturedly. "Skye's golden boy announces an elopement to an American woman no one on the island had ever seen before. Bound to stir up gossip."

"We're in the highlands," Edward replied, intentionally matching the man's tone. "Everything is bound to stir up gossip."

He chuckled. "Yer not wrong."

Edward scanned the bar area, hoping another guest would come up with an order.

"Why the suddenness?" he prompted after another sip of his beer.

"Pardon?" Edward asked.

"In yer wedding. Where did the rush come from?"

Edward had considered that he would run into this question beyond the night of his wedding when he had been able to largely escape it with a hearty laugh and handshake or hug.

"It had been planned for a while," he lied. "The decision to invite half the island was the last-minute decision. We were going to have a small ceremony until my aunt succeeded in her last-ditch effort to convince us to have a proper celebration."

"Ah," he laughed. "Yer aunt is a formidable lady."

"That she is," Edward agreed, turning to grab a discarded rag and started to wipe at the tap in an effort to politely indicate an end to the conversation.

"How did ye meet yer wife then?" he asked conversationally.

Edward could feel his shoulders tensing in annoyance but fought to relax them and continue wiping.

"What are the favorite theories on the island?" he asked.

The man laughed. "Oh, everything from a lost tourist to pixies. I would no say there is a clear favorite that has emerged just yet."

"It was a business trip to London with my da last year," Edward replied. Fortunately, he and his father had had to go down to London to meet with one of their larger wholesalers. It hadn't been a pretty conversation, as the seller had wanted to renegotiate rates as the economy slowed.

"What was she doing in London?" he prompted. "Where is she from in the states?"

Not only was Edward annoyed; he had been alert since the man had started asking questions. He leveled him with a stare, one which the man met evenly.

"Edward, honey?"

Both men looked behind his shoulder to see Isabella coming out of the kitchen. Edward almost laughed at seeing her hair in similar knot on top of her head, her sleeves rolled up to her forearms.

"Ah, hello _mo leannan,"_ he greeted her with a smile, recognizing immediately that she was intent on playing her part. She met his eyes and recognized the meaningful look he was giving her.

"Alice said I should come and introduce myself to Skye's sheriff," she said with a charming smile, looking at the man Edward had been talking to.

 _Baws_.

That's why he was familiar.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Sheriff Miller," she said, confidently offering her hand to him to shake.

"Ye as well, Mrs. MacDonald," he replied, stressing the name in an odd way.

"The Sheriff was just asking about whereabouts yer from," Edward told her lightly.

Isabella didn't miss a beat. "Small town Pennsylvania," she grinned.

"And yet ye decided on Skye to settle," he said, a question in his voice.

Isabella smiled. "I'm not sure anyone could choose to live anywhere else after seeing Skye. Not to mention that the whisky is pretty good here," she grinned, playfully bumping Edward with her hip.

Edward chuckled and gave her a smile that he realized was entirely genuine.

Sheriff Miller emotionlessly watched the display from behind the rim of his glass as he took a swig.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sheriff. I better get back to your sister," she told Edward after nodding at the Sheriff. "She runs a tight ship in there," she added conspiringly.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "She said the same thing about you."

Isabella's only response was to wink as she turned and went back to the kitchen.

"Braw lass ye found there," he commented when she had left, still staring at Edward in that odd way.

"Aye," he agreed, running through the interaction again in his head. "Aye she is."

The sheriff soon finished his beer and left, but not before giving one final nod to Edward, a nod that seemed to indicate this was only the beginning of a series of conversations, conversations rooted in a notable amount of suspicion.

The last thing he and his pretend wife needed was suspicion.

Alice looked curiously over at the odd woman in the kitchen with her.

Her " _sister-in-law"_ she supposed, making a face to herself as she put together a salad to toss. It was still something she had not gotten used to, nor quite frankly had she tried.

Perhaps odd wasn't the appropriate word, she conceded internally. She had to admit the woman was sharp and carried herself in a sort of respectable manner that indicated she was at least somewhat accomplished in some aspect.

And Alice could hardly say she was mean, she supposed.

However, she was a complete stranger with an unexplained attachment to Sleat who had shown up out of the blue and married her brother with barely two words in the midst.

So perhaps odd was the _only_ appropriate word.

Still, they were married.

And it was in their family's interest that everyone on the island believed it. Alice had considered this in the time since their nuptials and was still confused on where her part in the whole mess was.

Conversation was her shaky conclusion. Conversation and potentially companionship. On an as needed and temporary basis.

"So," she started, hating the awkwardness in her voice. "How was that whisky?"

Isabella looked up from the mix she was stirring on the stove. Her face gave nothing away and for a moment, Alice wasn't even sure she herself had spoken.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," she replied wryly.

Alice chuckled despite herself.

"The whisky from Da," she elaborated.

Last week, Alice had stopped at her…well, what felt increasingly like Edward's home, after their wedding to get some of her things. Esme had suggested it might be nice if she stayed at the Isles Inn while the two of them "got to know each other."

She had seen the bottle resting on the table and recognized her father's handwriting and the year marked on the date. She knew she and her brother, Finlay, had similar bottles for them deep within Sleat that they would receive when they got married.

Isabella's face changed at that. Her brow wrinkled as she asked, "What?"

"Ye ken," Alice replied, "The wedding night whisky?"

Isabella's face remained puzzled.

Alice considered backtracking or just dropping the matter entirely. Why would Edward even retrieve the drink if he wasn't going to tell her what it meant to him? Why had she even thought conversation was a good idea in the first place?

"The day my parents got married," she decided against her better judgment to explain, "Da finished distilling the batch of whisky and left it in a cask for each of his children to share a bottle of with their partner when they got married."

Isabella's brow hardly smoothed.

Instead, she only seemed to lose the lovely rosiness in her cheeks.

Alice watched her curiously.

Of all the three of the MacDonald children, that gift of their father's certainly meant the most to Edward.

"He dinnae mention that to ye?"

Isabella swallowed visibly.

"No. No he did not."

Esme showed up about an hour or so after the sheriff had left and the dinner rush had started to die down. Edward smiled when he saw his aunt, though he immediately recognized that she was flustered for whatever reason.

"Hallo auntie," he said, kissing her cheek as she stepped behind the bar.

"Hello love," she smiled, kissing his cheek as she shrugged out of her overcoat. "How did you get roped into bartending on a Friday night?"

He explained that Fiona had the stomach flu and she hummed, distracted.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Recognizing his concern, she touched his cheek tenderly. "Nothing for you to worry about, love."

Edward frowned as she disappeared into the kitchen to check on Alice and Isabella. He hadn't heard much noise coming out of the cooking space in the better part of an hour they must have at least come to some sort of truce.

Esme returned to the bar area as Edward was finishing up getting a patron change for his round of drinks.

"That was darling of the two of you to help out," she thanked.

"It was no a problem," he assured her. "Are ye sure there is nothing troubling ye?"

Esme sighed. "Merely a disagreement with one of my suppliers."

"Ah," he said knowingly, "Raising prices on you?"

"Just as they all are," she huffed. "But that is my problem, just as you have your own supplier headaches."

"Aye," he agreed.

Esme used the nearby dispenser to fill up a glass of water and take a sip, looking at him over the rim with her sharp green eyes.

"How have you and Miss Bella been getting along?"

Edward glanced over at the kitchen door before replying, "Well enough."

Esme waited with her eyebrows raised.

Edward thought back to their afternoon at Sleat with the radio and her lovely giggles. It had been the first time he had heard her laugh since their wedding.

It might not have been marital bliss, per say, but it was something.

"We are figuring it out," he said firmly.

Esme nodding, seeming contemplative.

"I know it is not my business, but I can't help my curiosity about her life in the States. Has she said anything to you?"

The grimace on Edward's face answered the question.

"I thought that may be," she said.

They were quiet for a moment before Esme opened her mouth.

"Does she remind you of your father at all?"

Edward raised his eyebrows, taken aback.

"What?"

"Bella," Esme repeated, "does she remind you at all of your father?"

"Does she for ye?" he asked, confused. The comparison had not crossed his mind, though they certainly both had characteristics that he admired in both of them.

The thoughtful look remained on her face as she nodded.

"She does. When you four came back to Skye."

"After Maw died?" he asked slowly.

Esme nodded. "I can't say that I can really explain the likeness. The best I can do is say that your father was still strong and stubborn when you children and Sleat needed him to be. But he was…distant, though I daresay there is a better word…withdrawn perhaps. Understandably so, of course."

"Of course," he agreed absentmindedly.

"I like the woman," Esme admitted. "She is intelligent and sweet. But you have to get it out of her, you know?"

Edward's expression clearly indicated that he knew.

"Of course you do," she said, chastising herself before continuing her contemplative line of thought. "There's just a heaviness about her. And if you can make her forget about it for even just a little bit, you get a lovely, _lovely_ woman."

Privately, Edward had come to the same conclusion, but he didn't reply with more than a "hmmm," his thoughts being elsewhere, stuck on his aunt's previous comment.

His father had been mourning the loss of his wife. His partner. Half of his heart.

 _Who was his wife mourning?_

* * *

Wishing you peace as you finish out a busy holiday season and the duration of 2019. I cannot wait to continue sharing this story that is so dear to me.

All the love.


	15. Weekends

"Mr. Montgomery, Mrs. Montgomery is here to see you, shall I send her in?"

Jake's assistant, who was only a few years older than her, flashed her a polite smile as she set the phone down. "You may go in, Mrs Montgomery."

"Isabella is fine," she told her. "Or Ms. Swan."

His assistant flashed a polite smile. "Mr. Montgomery insists on calling you Mrs. Montgomery."

Isabella raised an eyebrow but murmured a thank you before heading into Jake's ostentatiously sized office. He was on the 34th floor and it was regularly a ten-minute elevator ride to reach it with all of the stops. He was on the phone on his desk, his heels kicked up and rested on the desk and suit coat hanging behind him, showing his loosened tie and suspenders, looking very much like the Wall Street poster boy that he was.

He smiled when he saw her and held up a finger to indicate that he would be done in a moment. Isabella sat down in the leather arm chair across from him, feeling her exhaustion start to creep in as she sat down. It was Thursday and she had worked about 60 hours already this week. Most days, the time flew by when she was in the office. But as soon as she left her own office, she lost that energy.

"Hey babe," Jake greeted after he hung up the phone. "How's it going?"

"Good," she replied. "What about you?"

"Fantastic," he grinned. "Hungry enough that I might have to take a bite of you though. I like your hair like that."

Isabella rolled her eyes but grinned.

"Hey, before I forget, that was my brother on the phone."

"How's Tom?" Isabella asked. Tom was younger than both of them, finishing up his final year of undergraduate studies at Harvard.

Jake smiled, his shiny white teeth and dimples flashing. "He's good. He's booked us for Vegas this weekend before he gets too far into midterm season."

"Vegas?" she asked with a frown. "As in leaving tomorrow?"

Jake laughed. "Yeah, a bit spontaneous but you know how he gets. And I haven't seen him in months I feel like!"

"I thought we were going to Broadway this weekend? We've had tickets for months."

Jake blinked at her.

"Oh, shit that's right, babe. Why don't you call Sandy up? Make it a girl's thing?"

"Like I did with that gala last month? Or our weekend trip to the Hamptons in June?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "When Bollig needed someone to go out with?"

"Hey – you know he was going through a rough patch since his wife left him," he defended one of his best friends.

"Yeah because he cheated on her all the time," Isabella replied dryly.

"Look babe," he said, undeterred. "I'll make it up to you, yeah? We can do whatever the hell you want next weekend."

"I'm in Los Angeles for work next weekend," she reminded him. For the third time.

Jake flashed her his dimpled smile. "The weekend after that."

"If you say so," Isabella muttered, upset, but clearly on the brink of dropping it for the time being.

"Would I ever lie to you, babe?"

~O~

As it turned out, if you run a small business that relies on money from tourists, one doesn't always get a weekend off. Isabella and Edward worked at the distillery on Saturday, having the place to themselves until the afternoon tasting tour of the day. Since it was the off season, they only had the one tour.

It had never been uncommon for Isabella to work on the weekends and she thought nothing of it, but Edward had been apologetic.

"Ye can stay here if ye like, just because I have to be there does no mean that you do," he had said as she had started to lace up her boots at the front door.

"I'll entertain myself there," she replied firmly.

Edward frowned.

"If you're going to go, so am I," she added.

Edward gave her a look before obligingly holding the front door open for her. He followed her out, zipping up his coat against the increasingly chilly weather. The frown stayed on his face the entire time he drove them to the distillery. He knew next to nothing about her but he wagered she was used to Monday-Friday jobs with predictable hours.

He had grown up in a family where weekends had been sacred. His parents had never worked on Saturdays or Sundays and the five of them spent so much of their family time together in those few days. Once his mother died and they moved to Skye, his father took a turn in the rotation and would work one Saturday a month.

Isabella looked at him questioningly as they got out of the car.

Edward sighed.

"I feel bad about having ye do work on a weekend," he admitted, avoiding her soft and curious stare.

"I don't mind it," she replied honestly. "Why do you work if it bothers you?"

It was rare to have her engage in a conversation with him and as a minimum, he figured he owed her honesty.

"I dinnae used to," he admitted as he pulled the key out of his pocket, walking with her to the staff entrance.

Isabella walked across the threshold of the open door and waited for him to continue.

"But once the economy crashed there's been a lot less people going on the tours and buying whisky. I cannae afford to pay Jasper or Carlisle or Robert…or Ian or James even, to work the hours they used to…it's better if they work on the boats with the fishermen at the harbor when they can."

Isabella nodded in understanding, a frown on her face.

"If ye own the business, ye get paid last, ye ken?"

Isabella gave a rueful half smile but nodded again.

They walked down the hall until they reached the office. Edward unlocked the door and opened it for her. "I'll turn the heat up," he said upon noticing how cold it felt in the room.

He cringed, considering what the costs would be to heat the building now that it was getting colder.

Isabella rewarded him with a grateful smile as she moved to settle behind the desk where she had left all of her things.

"And we should find ye some warmer clothing now that winter is starting to move in."

Isabella opened her mouth with a protest on her lips but upon seeing Edward's raised eyebrows, she closed her mouth.

"Ye'll need more than just the gray jumper of yours." The worn gray crewneck sweatshirt with faded "University of Pennsylvania" letters was a staple in her wardrobe from what he had seen.

"It's a perfectly good sweatshirt," she disagreed defensively.

"Unless ye'd like to wear it all winter, it might be a good idea to get ye something ye can at least….at least rotate it with."

"Perhaps you're right," she conceded primly, recognizing the laundry challenge.

"Give a wee holler if ye need anything," he said with a chuckle.

"Thank you," she replied, sitting in the chair with her coat still on her. She met his eyes and smiled briefly at him before turning the legal pad she had all of her scribblings contained on.

Edward left the room and went about the regular routine of preparing the lobby and the still house for a tour. He turned on all of the lights and other power sources, turned up all of the heating, and selected the usual whiskies that they used for the tasting tours and left them over in the room the tours ended in. As he went through the motions, his mind settled on his wife, as it seemed to every free moment, he had the past week.

They had been married for a week now and he was still unsure how to coexist with her.

Their wedding and wedding night held nothing but fond memories. Dancing and drinking with her and swaying along with her while his friends and families danced around them to Loch Lomond had been exactly how he had envisioned his wedding night.

It had all been so real.

Her happiness had seemed so genuine that night, including after they left Isles and settled in his house and shared a few drams.

Even making love to her, she had seemed sincere in her passion.

When she woke up the next day and only spoke when spoken to and remained quiet and withdrawn, he had been disappointed. It had taken some thought in the wee hours of the morning for him to realize and accept that the ache in his stomach was disappointment, and likely beyond just that, regret.

He had never taken advantage of a woman in his life.

But the next morning, when his wife would barely speak to him after drunkenly sleeping with him the night before, he felt damn sure like he had.

As the days passed and she remained quiet and somber with him, his sense of dread grew worse. For one of the first times in his life, he truly had no idea how to go forward. He did not know if she wanted space to work on Sleat and nothing else or if she needed his support and friendship.

Truthfully, if she did need space, he wasn't even sure he could give it to her.

That part of her, that sparkly, bright, shiny part of her that he had seen on their wedding was in there. He didn't know why she kept it locked away.

But he felt stubbornly certain that it was there.

So, he had done the only thing he could think of…what he had seen his father do with his mother throughout their marriage and in the time she was sick. It was the least and the most he could do.

Make sure she was cared for and had everything she needed.

~O~

Sunday was busier than Saturday had been.

Both Jasper and Carlisle joined her and Edward at Sleat. Carlisle and Edward had work to do in the still house as the latest batch they were making was a critical stage of creation that could not wait until Monday.

Isabella joined Jasper out in the lobby and watched him greet the guests that were coming in. He was just as charismatic as he had been when she had been on the tour, easily establishing a rapport with each of the nine visitors that were following him on the tour. Five were from America, two from Japan, and two from Canada. By the looks of it, they were all engrossed in everything that Jasper was saying as he introduced himself and told them a bit about Sleat.

She stayed at the front desk in case anyone came in, but other than answering one phone call to provide the tour times to a future visitor, it was quiet. She entertained herself by getting familiar with the front desk systems and processes, or lack thereof processes with anything technological. She was examining the credit card reader in an attempt to discern both whether it worked properly and if it was a chip reader as she knew was increasing in popularity in Europe.

It was a surprise when she heard Carlisle's voice from the hallway to the office behind her.

"Esme, love, I just got yer message, what's wrong?"

Isabella froze.

"Is she doing okay?" he asked and paused, waiting for a response. "And what about Chase? Has he had any episodes lately?"

Isabella frowned, wondering if she had ever met a Chase. She didn't think so but given how many people they had crammed into the Isles Inn, it was possible that one had been named Chase.

"That's what she said? Will she get evicted? Has she found her landlord?"

Carlisle was silent for some time.

"If she's been laid off, those child support payments will not be enough to cover Chase's medical expenses."

Chase was a kid then.

"Esme, I know, I know," he soothed quickly after his latest statement. "It will be awright. Elizabeth…love…shh, it's okay. Shh, I know. I know she's yer baby sister."

Isabella waited. She had never heard Carlisle get upset about anything.

"Yer _not_ doing nothing," he assured her gently. "We are already sending her all that we can afford to…even with Jasper contributing," he sighed, "I know, I ken…I dinnae think it is enough either. I…I know…we will think on it," he promised surely. "We will figure something out."

There was another pause and she could hear footsteps across the concrete as he paced.

"Bloody American health care…so bloody expensive," he growled. "There must be a program…an assistance, something, something from their government maybe, something that can help kids with medical problems. We can look into it tonight, sweetheart. There has to be something."

It made Isabella's heart ache to know that Edward's aunt and nephew were in such clear distress over her sister. She didn't understand the entire story, of course, but she felt that all too familiar pang at seeing the effects of the financial crisis hitting people she was interacting daily with, people who had showed nothing but kindness to her.

Kindness she was not confident she deserved.

"It is no fair, I know," he agreed before growling, "There are no bloody jobs for anyone anywhere nowadays after what happened. Those greedy bastards in those banks have ruined lives. Hell can only come too soon…"

Isabella didn't hear the rest of Carlisle's thought.

She had crouched in front of the small trash can behind the desk and vomited.

* * *

A brief glimpse into more. Another chapter will be posted in the next couple of days (it's a promise).

Wishing you wonderful starts to a kind 2020.


	16. The Housing Market

"Babe! Babe! Are you home?"

Isabella looked up from the 89-page property assessment that she had been reading for the past two hours. She could feel a headache starting to form between her eyes and she kept gazing longingly at the liquor cabinet in her the corner.

Ever since her promotion to Vice President last month, her days on Wall Street had gotten even longer. She was well aware that her co-workers felt she only got the promotion because her father was the CEO of the very same bank. While she could admit there was truth to that, she was fiercely determined to prove to them all that it wasn't _just_ because of who her father was.

In this effort to prove herself to her fellow financial executives, she barely saw Jake let alone her friends from college. It was just temporary, she would remind herself in moments of quiet angst or exhaustion. She just had to put in the time to her career now and would have more balance in the future.

It had never been the case for her workaholic father, but she told herself she would be different.

When she heard several male voices downstairs and realized it was more than just Jake, she thought to herself that she would need something stronger than a glass of white wine.

"Upstairs," she called.

"Get your ass down here now!" he hollered with a laugh. "I have a surprise!"

With a sigh, she left her office where she had been holed up in for that Friday evening and went down the large banister stairway. She could hear at least three other men with him, all laughing boisterously.

"Hey guys," she greeted them before looking at her grinning husband. "What's up?"

"We had an…exceptional third quarter at Lehman," he started, looking like he had been snacking on a canary.

Lehman Brothers had just seen an unprecedented 27% increase in profits. It had made front page of the business section in the New York Times. Her own bank had seen a similar spike in earnings, manifesting itself into a large bonus she had just received on her desk earlier that day.

Bollig and Wulff downed a shot of some very expensive vodka at Jake's statement. "Fuck yeah we did!"

Jake laughed and swallowed down the alcohol when they passed him the small glass.

"Like I said," he laughed, pulling her into his side so that she could smell the alcohol mingling with his expensive cologne. "A good quarter," he said, hugging her into his size to which she had to smile at his tenderness.

They hadn't been in the best place lately, but he still had sweet tendencies.

"And the surprise?" she asked dubiously.

"Tell her Jakie boy!" Wulff egged him on. "Tell her what you bought her!"

Jake turned and grinned adoringly at his wife. "Bought you a whole island, babe! Off the coast of Florida."

Isabella's mouth fell open in surprise.

Wulff and Bollig cheered and took another shot.

"You did?" she asked. He had just bought an entire strip of properties on Martha's Vineyard after Lehman's performance in quarter two of the year. "Why?"

"Why the hell not? Because I can," he grinned before planting a kiss on her lips. "Are you excited?"

Isabella was speechless.

"Yeah, I can't wait to see it," she hedged.

"Aw come on babe, it's an asset! Another investment! The housing market is rock solid, I'd be an idiot if I wasn't buying properties. The value only fucking goes up!"

Isabella forced a smile.

While Jake had immense faith in the economy and believed that the housing market was infallible, Isabella had her doubts about investing so much into property. The last time they had discussed it, they had gone to bed without speaking as Jake had not even been willing to consider what she was saying. Now, he was smiling and charming and she had no desire to get into it with him. Again.

"That's great, Jake."

"To the housing market!" Bollig laughed, clearly intoxicated as he poured another round of the $400 alcohol for all of them.

Isabella took the small glass and clinked against the guy's glasses.

"To the housing market!"

~O~

She was quiet again.

It was one step forward, two steps back with his wife.

They had slowly come to an accord, a comfortable place where they were speaking and interacting kindly with each other.

And it had gone away.

Sunday afternoon after they had finished their work and left Sleat for the day, Isabella reverted to one word replies and was off to her bedroom by 7:30pm.

"Not feeling well," she mumbled as a reason.

"Did ye want any medicine?" he offered.

"No thank you," said Isabella as shook her head. Before he could offer anything else by means of remedy she added, "Goodnight."

To her credit, she did look sick.

Part of his brain, a part he wished would stay silent, wondered whether or not she was once again just avoiding him, regret about marrying him and being stuck on Skye filling her mind.

But he ignored that part and opened a bottle of beer.

When they had left the distillery, he had swung by the office and grabbed a small pile of papers, some of the documents that were giving her trouble. While she was too polite to say it to his face, he knew they had been so haphazardly done that even she was having trouble deciphering what had been meant by them.

With a sigh, he sat down at the table, got comfortable, and started pouring over the statements.

Somewhere along the way, perhaps even that first day when she had barged into the office, he had grown fond of her.

And if what's best for her was to leave Skye as soon as possible…he would help her.

Edward had woken up with a headache and it had only intensified as his Wednesday commenced.

His wife had uttered a total of eight words to him over breakfast and the drive to the distillery before withdrawing to her office hideaway for the day. He had surreptitiously tried to search for signs that she was upset at him, but for the life of him, he couldn't detect anything to lead him to believe she was even upset at all.

Simply withdrawn.

He also could not find any signs that she _wasn't_ upset him either.

~O~

While distilling, Wilson had discovered a leak in one of their casks. It was not a huge leak, but it was not going to be cheap to fix.

And Jasper and Robert were in a piss mood.

It was a perfect storm and frankly, he was not at all surprised when he found himself in the lobby while Robert and Jasper welcomed the few guests they had for a Sleat Flight tour. There was an English family of four that was mulling about, having chatted cordially about the proximity of their home to Jasper's maternal grandmother's home, as well as a retired American couple with backpacks and a large camera, absorbing all of the lobby displays.

The bell rang and in walked two American men who appeared to be in their mid 30's. They were chortling about something or another, not caring how boisterous their entrance was.

Edward looked over to catch Jasper's wary glance.

"Hallo lads, welcome to Sleat," he forced out with a smile as they quieted down and made their way to the counter.

"We are here to take flight," one said without preamble while the other snickered. "Because apparently the real tasting tours are only on selective days at this establishment."

Jasper raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. Unbeknownst to himself, Edward wore the same expression.

"Yes," he replied stiffly, losing much of his embellished accent, "there's not much demand in the winter months, and that tour is only for whisky connoisseurs."

"Dude," he scoffed, "You're looking at some of the best fucking connoisseurs the city of New York has ever laid eyes on."

"Show some respect," the other added with a laugh as pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

"What do ye do in New York?" Jasper asked as they rifled through their wallet, carelessly thumbing through hundreds of pounds.

Edward gave a friendly greeting to the American couple but kept his eyes on his cousin.

"We work at Bank of America," the second one answered.

"Yer a banker then."

It was said in a cold tone, more accusation than question.

"Aye aye captain," he chuckled, "As you folks would say. Investment banking."

His buddy laughed.

Clearly this would not be their first drink of the day.

"Yer _still_ on Wall Street?" Robert asked, chiming in with an equally cool tone.

Edward saw both of his cousins square their shoulders as they stared down the entitled men.

"Are you kidding?" one said.

"Why the hell would we leave?" the other finished exuberantly. "The money is still plenty good, whatever the media whines about. Always gloom and doom with those dicks…exaggerating everything every day."

Jasper and Robert were silent.

Edward considered intervening but honestly didn't feel compelled to side against his angry kin.

The two young men were coming of age in a time when there were no jobs being created, no opportunity for them. They had no stability to look forward to as employers fought to stay in business, not thinking of expansion, simply thinking of survival.

Edward knew Jasper wanted to work, knew he was a good worker. But Sleat simply couldn't afford to give him hours and the hours he worked on the fishing boats were few and far between. He knew Esme's sister was spiraling into debt in America, trying to pay for her little boy's medical expenses and he knew Jasper spent them what little money he had.

Robert could barely afford the roof over his head and had started to talk about moving in with his parents again. Before he had talked about moving away and trying out life in the city...now, he couldn't fathom affording that with his savings diminished from the lack of steady income.

They were angry and they had every right to be.

Edward himself was angry. Angry at the callous privilege that was standing in front of him.

And for that reason, he did not intervene in the horrible customer service taking place in his business.

Finally, still holding their payment untouched, Jasper breathed deeply through his nostrils and spoke.

"Get tae fuck, arsepiece. Have ye no idea the damage ye and yer people have done? Have ye no idea about the lives that have crumbled from the actions of banks like ye? Any idea how many businesses are struggling to keep their doors open while banks like ye continue to wait like bloody hawks, circling a fresh kill to buy them out and sent them to the food shelves? Any fucking idea how many folks are struggling and struggling because fuckbumpers like ye are allowed to have any fucking authority over anything or anyone? Any idea how much taxpayers have paid to save _yer_ arses?"

Edward's mouth tightened.

The two Americans jaws fell open.

And the rest of the visitors were staring.

None of them had ever heard anyone speak to a customer in that way.

"Or is that ye just dinnae care? That's bloody it isn't it? Ye dinnae or cannae care about anything 'cept yer money, yer booze, and yer lasses. The lot of ye are selfish, selfish bastards and lacy-heided wankstains. If ye dinnae care, then I dinnae care to spend any bloody time with ye or sell ye any of this whisky. Awa' ye and chew mah banger!"

Robert snatched the money from Jasper and slapped it on the counter for them.

"Oan yer trolley, ye fucking weapons, we dinnae want folks like ye here."

Speechless, the bankers turned on their heels and made a much different exit than their entrance.

Edward lifted his hand to his face and tiredly rubbed at it.

He didn't see his ghostly white faced wife dart into the bathroom, having heard their tirade.

* * *

Another wee chapter - Isabella and Jake, darlings of Wall Street.

I am attempting to maintain a frequent updating schedule with these shorter chapters so I will see you back in a few days...Sleat will have an interesting visitor show up.

All the love for you all.


	17. Surprise Visit

Isabella and Jake were enjoying a rare Saturday afternoon together. By her count, it was the first time they had been under the same roof on a weekend in about eight weeks.

Granted, they were enjoying it in separate parts of their spacious house, having barely exchanged more than four words since waking up.

Over the past few months, they spent less and less time together, and it was a trend Isabella didn't care to consider, chalking it up to one of her grandparent's favorite sayings in that for everything there was a season…and this season was just busy. If she was being honest with herself, she knew her marriage was not thriving.

But, since she was not being honest with herself, she stuck with the busy season theory.

Isabella had been nursing the same gin and tonic for the better part of the three hours, working on a presentation that she would be giving on Monday morning. The more she stared at it, the more minor tweaks she made. Her lips moved as she silently read through and memorized the content. Admittedly, this was redundant given how long she had spent researching the development opportunity.

Jake was somewhere in their basement, tinkering with his enormous bar and reorganizing his vast and expensive alcohol collection. It was his favorite entertainment spot and if they were all in town and off of work, she would often find him and his college buddies drinking and smoking until the early morning hours. She rarely went down there, the smell of smoke irritating her.

Isabella lifted her glass to her lips and paused as her eyes narrowed as she assessed the slide in front of her. It was really the heart of the presentation with all of the key financials and expected return on investment. She was so lost in the thought that she barely heard his yell.

"ISABELLA!"

She nearly dropped her glass in surprise. She had never heard her husband sound so frantic.

"ISABELLA!" he yelled again, more desperate.

Carelessly tossing her glass and laptop onto the table she leapt out of her chair and ran to the basement. As she darted through the house, she racked her brain of how he could have injured himself.

He was on the phone, one hand holding it against his ear and the other running his hand frantically through his hair.

"She's here," he asserted when she hurried into the room. "She's here, Dad. What is it? What the hell happened? What's wrong with Tom?"

Isabella's brows furrowed in concern as she approached him.

It was so quiet in the basement that Isabella could hear her father-in-law's grainy reply.

"Your brother…son…he was doing one of those ridiculous motorcycle races…I don't know if they were drinking or doing God knows what, but something caused him to lose control of the bike and he crashed into a containment wall."

Isabella held her breath.

"They pronounced him dead at the scene."

Isabella wasn't prepared for what happened next.

"NO!" Jake roared as soon as the words left his father's mouth.

Jake threw his phone against the nearest wall with such force that it scattered into pieces as he continued to scream, "NO!"

Isabella could not unfreeze herself.

Jake turned his rage to his alcohol collection and started grabbing bottles of whiskey, rum, and vodka and smashing them against the bar, the floor, the wall, everything. Isabella felt the alcohol run on the polished stone floors against her bare feet but could not move.

"God fucking damnit! No! Not fucking Tom! Not MY FUCKING BROTHER!"

She hated herself for it, but in that moment, she couldn't do anything as he destroyed thousands of dollars of alcohol and wrecked his custom-made bar and punctured gigantic holes in the wall.

It was only the beginning of his grief.

His rage and destruction would overwhelm their big, empty house for a long time to come.

~O~

It was particularly cold one of the days of the following week.

Winter was creeping in and while they were blanketed by the sea air, there was an undeniable chill to the air that left many of Isle of Skye's inhabitants shivering.

When it got below freezing, the key to Sleat's employee entrance got stuck.

And wouldn't unlock the door.

Isabella, Edward and Ian all stood at the door as Edward jiggled and shook the metal key against the freezing metal.

As Edward grew increasingly more frustrated and his movements got more aggressive, his muttered strand of curses got more colorful.

"Weaselheaded mangled hellbeast," had been her personal favorite.

Minutes had ticked by and Isabella hadn't even noticed that she had started to dance on her toes from the cold seeping through her jacket.

"Awright, lass?" Ian asked her in concern.

Isabella nodded but tucked her arms instinctively closer to her chest.

"Yer nose is all red like a cherry, ye must be freezing," Ian disagreed.

Before Isabella could protest, Ian had unwrapped his large plaid scarf from his neck and wrapped it around her. The musty smell of wool immediately assaulted her nose, but the cool wind hitting her neck was blocked.

"Ye'd make a bonnie reindeer for Santa's sleigh," he said with a warm chuckle, tapping the tip of her, admittedly cold, nose.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied dryly.

"Did ye know the best thing about being on Skye?" he asked conspiringly. She raised an eyebrow and he continued, "We're so bloody far north that we are always the big man's first stop. So close to the North Pole, ye ken?"

Isabella laughed at the absurd comment, despite herself.

"Some may think it's Norway or the likes," he continued, "But it's nae true."

"Of course not," Isabella agreed dryly.

Ian's shoulders straightened as he grew more confident in his embellishing.

"In fact, Father Christmas makes practice runs with his reindeer over the Highlands in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I bet ye being the Yank ye are dinnae know that, aye?"

"Yank?" she asked in amusement.

"Aye, but we'll forgive you for it," Ian winked.

Isabella laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

"I think if we're lucky, we might be able to spot one of his practice runs. What do ye say to trying, huh Bella? Santa chasing some night?"

At that precise moment, they heard the recently unlocked door being yanked from the frame.

Isabella just shook her head with a chuckle and walked into the proffered open door, easily walking under Edward's raised arm.

She was far enough into the hallway that she didn't hear the grunt Ian made when Edward threw a sharp elbow into his ribcage.

~O~

The second full week at Sleat had been similar to the first.

With Edward's help, Isabella had finally gotten a firm understanding of Sleat, all of its assets and liabilities, suppliers and sellers. Now that it was in order and she was understanding all of it, she was unsure how to proceed.

They needed a business plan.

Or at least a plan to get through the recession.

Admittedly all of Isabella's career had been when the economy had been booming, so this was unfamiliar to her and prompted her to be slower in her process than normal.

Isabella learned that Fridays were particularly slow for the distilling process.

Around lunchtime there was a knock on the office door. Isabella gave a distracted hum to indicate that they should enter. Edward appeared with the big white takeaway box and a sheepish grin on his face.

"Keeping yer w-"

"-wife fed, yes, it's a good idea," Isabella finished with a soft chuckle, already moving some papers aside to clear a place for the food.

Edward's lips turned up into a wry grin. "Aye," he agreed.

As they ate, Edward asked a few questions about her day and they ate in companionable silence for the most part. Isabella vaguely wondered if Jasper would emerge with a couple of drams of whisky as he had last Friday when they had worked.

Therefore, when there was a knock on the door, she was hardly surprised.

Both of them called their permission to open the door. Isabella popped another prawn into her mouth as the door opened and the proceeded to cough and get it stuck in her throat when a man in a suit appeared.

Edward looked at her in concern, but she held a napkin against her mouth and waved him off. He turned his gaze back to the man and seemed to remember his manners as he stood up from his chair.

"Hallo, how can I help ye?" he asked, shaking the suit's proffered hand.

"You must be Edward MacDonald?" he replied. Isabella immediately recognized the posh English accent; he must have been from the London area.

Edward nodded.

"My name is David Andrews," he introduced. "I work with a company called Diageo down in London."

"Welcome to Sleat. Please," Edward said, gesturing to one of the other chairs in front of the desk, "Have a seat Mr. Andrews."

Isabella hastily pushed aside some of the seafood, trying to remember what Diageo was. She had recently heard the name but did not remember in what capacity it had been in. She stood up and offered him her hand. "Isabella MacDonald," she offered confidently, as if it wasn't the first time she had ever called herself that.

If Mr. Andrews was curious if she was wife, sister, or cousin, he didn't let on.

"A pleasure," he said as he shook her hand with a charming smile.

"What can we do for ye, Mr. Andrews?" Edward asked as they settled into the chairs around the desk.

"Actually, it is what I hope to be able to do for you," he replied in his particularly proper pitch.

Edward raised his eyebrows but nodded for him to continue.

Isabella felt her lips thin as David began his spiel.

After a few sentences of fancy words said with a charming accent, she surmised what the man wanted.

To buy Sleat Distillery.

* * *

Like every year, I am continuing the tradition of posting a chapter on my birthday. As a I begin another year, I am reflecting on how grateful I am to have you all care about this story (and other stories I). Reading and writing is an underrated type of magic.

This is the last brief chapter before the action really commences.

All the love.


	18. Apologize

Tom's funeral had been as grand and ornate as their wedding.

The attendees had been politicians, diplomats, CEOS, and everyone in between. They packed the pews of the largest church New Jersey had to offer to pay their respects to the late son and heir to one of the largest fortunes in America.

Isabella, who had been fond enough of Tom due largely to proximity, sat solemnly next to Jake during the service. In a show of comfort, she had offered her hand to him when they sat down, but he discarded it after a few minutes to sit with his arms crossed against his chest and his head down.

Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery sat on Jake's other side, each of them stoic and unreadable as they stared straight ahead. Isabella knew neither one of them was likely to shed a tear in front of any of their esteemed guests. They would conduct themselves like the royalty they had imposed upon themselves.

As the priest droned on about God's everlasting forgiveness, Isabella became acutely aware of the smell of brandy emanating from her husband.

In the days since they had learned about his death, she had seen and heard little from Jake. He had disappeared to their basement to lose himself in drink.

Isabella's lips pinched into a tight line as she thought about their only interaction since the phone call telling them of his brother's death.

She had gone down to check on him in the basement, having just gotten off the phone with Mrs. Montgomery's assistant who had details about the funeral service. The smell of smoke had greeted her. But rather than the sweet cigar smell, she found him with a $700 bottle of whiskey and a $5 pack of cigarettes.

"Jake, what are you-"

The question died on her lips when he turned a ferocious and bloodshot glare to her.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Isabella raised an eyebrow, an instinctual habit when confronted with that tone.

"Oh for the love- don't even fucking start with me Isabella," he growled, seeing the facial movement.

Isabella smoothed her features.

"Claire was just on the phone. The funeral is going to be on Tuesday at-"

Jake slammed his hand down against the leather armrest of the couch, a loud smacking noise echoing through the room.

" _God damnit_ Isabella!" he roared, "I don't want to fucking hear it!"

Isabella took a steadying breath, reminding herself that he was grieving.

"Your mother wants-"

"Shut the hell up!" he yelled, pushing out of his seat and standing to his towering height. "Get it through that thick fucking skull of yours that I. Do not. Want. To. Hear it."

Isabella's eyes had drifted to the coffee table next to the leather couch while he was yelling.

"What the hell is that?" she demanded, reaching down for the powdery substance.

His hand yanked hers out of the air before she could touch it.

Before she knew what was happening, Jake twisted her wrist back sharply and shoved her away from the coffee table, hard. She stumbled a few feet back, landing against one of the metal bar stools with all of the force that he had pushed her with.

"Just get the fuck out of here, you condescending, pain in the ass, bitch!" he roared.

Isabella took one look at his disheveled hair, heaving chest, and wild eyes, and then swallowed. She straightened up, ignoring the sharp pain in her lower back and wrist. Without another word, she walked out of the room, leaving shards of her dignity with him in that desolate basement.

~O~

The two didn't say anything on the car ride home from Sleat after David Andrews left.

Isabella was silent.

And for once, he didn't attempt to engage her in conversation.

While Mr. Andrews had presented them with his pitch, she had said nothing, just stared at him with those intense eyes of hers.

Diageo wanted to partner with Sleat and provide the financial backing and support the distillery needed to grow its exports across the world in exchange for a percentage of the profits and majority ownership rights of the distillery.

Andrews hadn't gotten into the specifics of any of the numbers, admittedly focusing on the emotional rather than the practical. He talked about the potential growth of Scotch on the international stage and the influx of visitors that would bring not only to Scotland but to the Isle of Skye. It would fill beds in inns and tables at restaurants; establishments such as Isles Inn.

Edward had asked a few questions while Isabella continued to frown.

She only said one thing in that whole time.

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews, but Sleat is not for sale. I will walk you out."

Edward had looked at her in surprise, but she had ignored him as she tidied up the papers that the businessman had handed out with growth projections. She rose from her seat and went to the door of the office, holding it open and gracefully ignoring both of the surprised stares from the two men.

Isabella had not said a word since then and Edward's surprise had faded into deep annoyance, an irritation that was bordering anger the more they sat in silence.

It wasn't until they had gotten out of the car and entered the house that he could not contain himself.

"What was that all about, Bella?" he demanded, kicking off his boots as she slid out of her shoes.

"What?" she asked as she slowly straightened up.

"Ye ken what I'm talking about," he replied evenly.

Isabella left the mudroom with him only a few steps behind.

"They want to buy it, Edward. All of his words about a partnership was just a nice way of describing an acquisition."

Edward crossed his arms over his chest as they ended up in the kitchen.

"I ken that," he replied crossly.

Isabella started, looking at him in surprise.

"I might no be as smart as ye, Bella, but I'm no daft."

"I didn't say that you were," she replied defensively.

"Well then I would appreciate it if ye did no speak to me like I am," he said.

Isabella breathed out of her nose but nodded.

"They buy small, privately owned companies and turn them into nothing more than arms of their corporate machine. Companies like that kill all of the heart and soul from a small business and turn it into nothing more than numbers and margins. They did it with Smirnoff, Johnnie Walker, Baileys, Guinness-"

"Aye, and now those are some of the world's best-selling brands, aye I was listening too," he replied curtly.

"And with no control of how they run their business! Those companies have no say. Corners can be cut, people can be treated poorly…all of these decisions get pushed out from the corporate level and damn the consequences."

Edward shook his head. "That's no what Andrews said."

"Of course it's not!" she replied in exasperation. "That hardly helps drive a sale. But that's how that works."

"How do ye know?" he demanded, "How do ye know that that will happen with Sleat? How do ye know that the worst will happen?"

Isabella paused and took a deep breath.

"Because I've had experience with these things in the past."

This was hardly news to Edward. He had known she had some business experience even though she had always been vague about it. But he respected her right to privacy and never pushed her on it.

He wanted to push her on it now.

"Ye cannae say that that's the way it would go with Sleat," he argued instead.

"But I've seen it," she said in a softer tone.

"Well what if that is how it goes?" he exclaimed. "What if they take Sleat and make it one of the world's premier whiskies? What if it becomes the world's best-selling Scotch? Why on Earth is that no a good thing?"

"You can get there without them!"

Edward laughed and even to his own ears he recognized it was not a nice laugh.

"How?"

"We are figuring it out," she replied stubbornly.

Edward couldn't hold back any longer.

"Ye won't always be here, Bella!" he exclaimed. "Ye cannae possibly expect me to no at least consider a reasonable business proposal when ye are ready to leave this island as soon as ye possibly can!"

Isabella froze.

Neither one of them spoke, each just staring at one another.

"That's not true," she finally said quietly.

"Ye hate it here!" he insisted, holding onto his vigor.

Isabella shook her head, looking shellshocked.

But Edward was not deterred.

"And how else do ye expect me to ever be able to pay ye back?"

Isabella said nothing.

"Diageo can buy ye out and ye will have your money back and end this farce of a marriage and be free of any obligation to Sleat." His tone had softened into a plea by the end of the statement.

They were silent.

Edward's whole body was tense as he waited.

"I don't hate it here," she finally said.

Edward rubbed his face tiredly, not in the mood for semantics. "Well I would no say ye _like_ it here then."

Isabella shook her head.

"You can't sell Sleat, Edward," she pleaded.

"Well I cannae keep ye here against yer will, Bella," he replied, emotionally. "Ye saved us when we needed to be saved from MacLeod and now I am trying to give ye a….a way out."

"I want to be here."

Now it was Edward who froze.

"Bella…" he struggled to articulate his thoughts and when he did, the words came out with the hurt he had kept hidden even to himself. "Ye dinnae speak to me. Ye rarely smile or laugh. Ye dinnae seem happy here."

Isabella shook her head and he saw her eyes sparkle with water threatening to emerge.

"My happiness…it's not you and it's not Skye. I don't know. Being here – with you – being with your family…being on this beautiful isle…I can't explain it…" she trailed off with her voice quivering.

Edward tried desperately to follow her erratic lines of thought, feeling the concern settle into the lines of his face.

She took a deep, albeit shaky, breath.

"I don't know how it happened…but I lost so much of myself over the years. And being here, being away from it all, I can see that when I never could. I-I don't know if I can go back to that."

It took everything in him to not ask what she meant by "that."

She continued, "It wasn't the life I ever wanted, and I don't even know if this is, but I also don't know that it isn't, and I don't know what to do but I don't think I want to leave…I don't know-" she cut herself off and gave a helpless shrug as tears left her eyes.

Edward crossed the space between them and wrapped her into his arms.

Her body remained tense and for a moment he worried he had done the wrong thing with her again. But then she took a shuddering breath and allowed her body to ease against his.

"It's alright, _mo chroí,"_ he soothed.

At that, Isabella shook her head against his chest before lifting her head and looking at him with red rimmed eyes.

"It's not," she said miserably. "I've taken from you more than you've given to me."

Edward frowned in confusion. He rubbed her back gently as he asked, "What?"

Isabella shook her head again. "You deserved a wedding with a woman who loved you, you deserved someone else to share your father's last gift to you with, you deserved a wedding night with the love of your life…you deserved someone who doesn't have so much – so much… _shit_ that keeps her up at night and overwhelmed during the day."

Edward frowned as he continued to move his hand up and down.

"How did ye know about the whisky?" he asked instinctually rather than as a communication strategy for debunking what she was saying.

"Alice," she replied miserably, wiping at the side of her face.

Edward shook his head.

"That was my pleasure to share that with ye. Truly," he insisted softly. "Ye have no taken a thing from me, Bella. It's me that should apologize and I…I am sorry that I forced myself on you that night."

Isabella's eyes widened. "You? Is that what you think?"

He said nothing.

"Edward no," she said, shaking her head. "You absolutely did not. That was just another thing I took from you."

Edward released a heavy breath and she moved with the fall of his chest, tucked as she was against him. He considered what she said and shook his head to himself.

Two sides of guilt had colored a wedding night that for all intents and purposes had been kind to both of them.

Edward placed a hand on the back of her head and gently leaned down to place a kiss on her crown.

"Bella, circumstances or not, that was a special night…and I do cherish it," he admitted shyly.

The only sound of movement was the soft sound of his hand continuing to stroke up and down her back in a gesture he hoped was soothing.

"No one has called me Bella in years," she said quietly.

"No?" he asked, just as quiet.

"And all of you Scots do it as effortlessly and easily as if I have always been family."

Edward frowned.

"I never thought to ask, I'm sorry. Would ye prefer Isabella?"

She was quiet as she thought.

Edward watched her intently and grew alarmed as tears came back to her eyes and she tried to blink them away.

"No," she said in a small voice, "Bella was who I wanted to be. I got lost with Isabella. Bella is…is me, at least I think."

Not knowing what to say, Edward pulled her tighter against him.

"Ye can be Bella, _mo chroí_ , ye can always be Bella."

* * *

"I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again."

A guiding mantra to me personally and a central theme to this sweet story.

All the love.


	19. Sound of Music

He started in Dunvegan.

One of his friends from school had taken over his father's pizza restaurant. It was suffering from the dramatic economic slowdown, but it still had decent traffic of locals and budget tourists. The pizza place sold alcohol, so it was open well into the night. It was a dated establishment, full of old polyester furniture that had been purchased in the 80s and Coca Cola branded napkin holders and glasses.

They had not spoken in some time, but when he showed up, he was greeted with a hand clap on the shoulder and a brief hug. The two men settled into a small table near the order counter so that James would be able to stand up and help a customer shoulder they come in.

James wore his hair in a low ponytail and donned a plain gray t-shirt and jeans almost every day. He was also a notorious gossip. He listened to everyone on the island who came looking for pizza, news, or absolution and was happy to oblige them.

"How ye daein then, old friend?" he asked, giving him his full attention.

"Fine, fine," he replied. "Busy."

"Aye," James nodded, taking a drink from his recently poured beer. "Anything new or excitin' going on in yer world?"

He cut right to the chase. "Hear about MacDonald have ye?"

James barked out a genuine laugh.

"It's been weeks – it's all anyone has wanted to bloody talk about on this isle. Most of them just love it. They think it's the sweetest story; they think they're bonnie together. No that there are no plenty who are suspicious of the whole matter, though they have started to move on."

"Aye," he replied blankly.

"Whit dae ye ken?" James asked accusingly.

"I should ask ye the same."

James rolled his eyes. "Folks said it was a bonnie wedding. The American lass, whatever her name is, is braw, though there's an agreement that she's older than him. Even though they only had a half a day notice. I'm sure MacDonald dinnae get much in the way of gifts with that type of planning."

"Mmm hmm."

"All I know is what he told his guests. She's an American he met in London a year back and they were planning on getting hitched, it was the aunt's idea to invite everyone last minute."

"Believe it?"

"The story?"

He nodded.

James scratched at his 5 o'clock shadow thoughtfully.

"Well that depends."

He cocked his head. "Depends on what?"

"Whatever ye have to tell me."

"The whole bloody thing is illegal."

James raised both of his eyebrows. He picked up his beer, took a long swig and then nodded. "Ye have my attention, mate."

"MacDonald was evading the banks and the Scottish government. I'm sure she's older than him. She's got money – hell she might even have a rich husband back in the states that she's bored with for all I ken. Might be a sugar daddy might be daddy's money, whatever it is…she's got access to it."

"How much of it?"

"Enough that a quarter of a million dollars was in her bloody checking account."

James let out a low whistle.

"Ye think she has an American husband she's still married to?" he wondered aloud, his mind spinning with the possibility.

His friend was annoyed that James had chosen to latch onto that piece of his statement rather than the fact that MacDonald had been evading financial law.

"The international transfer of funds is illegal – and that's all the whole thing was. He got out of paying his fair share to the government, a share that everyone else has to pay and that the government fucking needs right now!"

Years of inferiority crept into that last statement and James could clearly see the clear resentment.

"They're no really married!" he continued angrily, "I'm quite sure he had never met her until he fucking married her."

James leaned across the table lowering his voice.

"How do ye ken?"

He shook his head. "I was with him the day before they got married. He was no a man about to be married, I promise ye that."

James looked impressed.

"It's all a lie?"

"It's all illegal."

~O~

Sometime later found Edward stoking a fire in the stone fireplace that dwarfed the rest of the living room. As he blew steady breaths of air on the small flames in an attempt to coax them to grow bigger, he heard the steady hiss of the shower in the nearby bathroom turn off.

After her tears had dried, she had pulled hesitantly away from him, a sort of shyness creeping back into her. Or perhaps it was embarrassment, as he hardly doubted she had planned to share so much of her emotions, her confusion, her uncertainty with him. He had gallantly excused himself to build a fire and she had hurriedly gone off to shower and had been under the water for over 20 minutes.

However, he told himself that if she needed to hide a little bit after the most heated conversation the two of them had shared to date, that was certainly understandable.

Therefore, when she emerged in her damp hair, clad in that familiar University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt and a pair of fleece leggings and wool socks, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her.

She returned the smile tentatively, running her fingers through her wet, dark hair.

"Did you still have any of that wine of Lizzie's?" she asked, adjusting her hair as she did so.

Edward granted her a soft smile. "Aye."

Rising easily from his spot on the couch and then nodding to the seat he had just vacated,

he went into the kitchen to dig the Austrian wine out of the very back of the fridge. As he was pulling it out, the home phone rang.

For a moment, he debated on answering it. His wife was waiting for him in the other room, looking very much like she was in the mood to spend time with him.

But, when he realized it could be his younger sister, he sighed and answered it.

"'Ello?"

"Aye, Edward, just wanted to check in with ye," Carlisle said on the other end.

"About what?" he wondered.

"Jasper said a man in a suit showed up to Sleat, everything awright?"

Edward contemplated how much to share. On one hand, it was his uncle, the man who had been working at Sleat for decades. On the other hand, he had just had an argument about the whole conversation with a wife who was sitting within hearing distance.

"Aye, everything's fine. Someone was interested in buying Sleat," he said nonchalantly.

"Hmmm," Carlisle replied thoughtfully. "It would no be the first time that's come up in Sleat's history. How much were they willing to pay?"

Edward was surprised by the curiosity in Carlisle's voice.

"They did no want to buy the whole thing. They wanted some ownership rights but wanted us to keep running it," he explained lowly.

"They would want the MacDonald's to stay involved?" he asked.

"Aye it sounded like it."

"Hmm," he replied again. "What did Bella think about that all?"

The business card from Mr. Andrews was still in his pocket. It suddenly felt like fire against his thigh.

"We're still discussing it," he quickly replied, hoping Isabella would not hear the lie. "Actually Carlisle? I've got to let ye go, in the final stages of finishing dinner," he lied.

"Oh by all means," he allowed easily. "Talk to ye later, Edward."

Edward put the phone in the charging base as if it burned him.

Truth was, Mr. Andrews' offer had not left his mind. And while Isabella was not necessarily for it, she had not specifically barred him from considering it further. And at the end of the day, it was his family legacy.

So he would find a place for the business card.

He took a breath and then turned back to the wine. He took his time uncorking the bottle and finding two glasses before re-entering the living room which was now warmed and illuminated by the bright fire burning.

Bella was on her hands and knees on the rug, peering into the open TV stand that held all of their DVDs.

Edward made an amused sound in his throat, his conversation with Carlisle forgotten.

"Finding anything?" he asked.

"Your collection is dismal."

"Aye."

"I've never even heard of some of these movies."

"Aye."

Isabella narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. Humored, he raised an eyebrow.

"It has to be the _Sound of Music_ …if it's Austrian wine."

Edward grinned.

"Aye, of course," he agreed seriously. "As long as it never has to be _Braveheart_ with Scotch."

"Not a fan?" she asked.

He made a guttural noise in the back of his throat.

"If ye find even a single soul in Scotland who is a fan, I would be astonished."

" _They may-_

"Dinnae say it."

" _\- take our lives, but_ -"

"- _they'll never take our freedom,_ aye, yes ye said it anyway," he deadpanned. "Shall I be starting this 6-hour movie then or shall we continue to discuss American butcheries in pop culture?"

Isabella giggled softly but moved away from the TV set.

After some coaxing on his part, the dusty DVD player was spinning the disc and the Julie Andrews' classic was playing for the first time ever in the house on the Trotternish peninsula. As they settled onto the coach facing the TV, Edward realized that while it was a favorite of his mother and Alice, he had never seen the musical.

Isabella was settled approximately ten inches away from him, her legs folded under her and tucked under an afghan. He sat with his arm thrown on the back of the coach in her general direction, a glass of wine in his other hand. As they watched together, he found himself genuinely enjoying the film, not in small part due to the company

Somewhere between the departure of the dreaded Baroness and her second glass of wine, Edward noted with amusement that Isabella's eyes began to flutter closed for longer and longer stretches of time.

By the time the nuns were once again singing in the abbey, Edward slipped her precariously held glass of wine out of her hand and set it on the coffee table with his. With an amused grin, he tucked her sleeping form into his side, letting her tired head fall onto his chest.

And after the day they'd had and the marriage they so far had built, he found himself finally relaxing.

"…loved that song," she mumbled sleepily.

Edward's eyebrows shot up in unexpected amusement. Emmett had been a sleep talker when they were growing up and sharing a bedroom so talking to the unconscious was not a shock for him.

"Aye?" he asked in amusement as the nun sang, "Climb Every Mountain."

He was fairly certain he was speaking to her last and most unguarded strains of consciousness.

"…mountain…" Isabella mumbled before letting out a tired breath and relaxing fulling against him. "Find your dream."

With a soft grin, Edward pushed aside some of her hair from her face.

"Aye," he agreed gently. "Aye, I hope ye do."

* * *

Next chapter finds two brothers arguing about something.

See you soon.


	20. Unexpected Visitor

Their unexpected visitor arrived just after the Sunday lunch hour.

They had gone to the Isles and had lunch with Esme and Carlisle. Esme was remarkably talented at drawing Isabella out of her shell and engaging her in verbal sparring. It didn't always happen, but since Edward and Isabella's argument a few days before which had led to a sort of truce between them, Isabella seemed less tense and conversed with Esme with minimal hesitation.

Edward had briefly chatted with Alice who seemed to be enjoying her work with Esme and was not at all put out to be living at the inn. Isabella saw them out of the corner of her eye but had to look away when Edward pulled her into a warm, affectionate hug. Alice seemed to not harbor any hidden resentment about the odd situation her brother was in and had offered Esme a smile and a Glaswegian greeting of "Awright lass?"

No drive on their part of Skye was ever a long one. The inn, the distillery, and the house were all within a five-mile radius, so it was rarely a time for any level of in-depth conversation, but they did amicably comment on the increasingly chilly weather and noted that days were getting shorter.

They had barely gotten in the door and removed their shoes upon returning home when the front door opened behind them. Edward, both jackets in hand near the coat hook, tensed as the door swung open.

"Emmett!"

Edward's thin, brown-haired brother had swung open the door with a beam on his face, pleased to have succeeded in surprising his family with his bursting into the room.

"What are ye doing here, ye bawbag?" Edward asked, looking positively delighted as he hung up the coats and then embraced his brother.

Emmett returned the hug heartily, patting Edward on the back.

"Thought I would drop in, aye? Haven't seen ye since the nuptials." At that, his gaze turned over to where Isabella had taken a few steps back, giving the siblings space.

"Bella, lass!" he said with a smile that she was still not sure how to read for authenticity. "Bonnie as ever. How has Skye been treating ye?"

With a slight grin, she replied, "Treating me well."

"Aye," was all Emmett said before Edward smacked him in the chest.

"Why are ye really here?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Emmett put a hand on his heart. "Because I have no spent quality time with my kin in ages, ye eejit."

Edward kept his eyebrow raised.

"Aye, awright, I'm teaching a week-long piping camp in Inverness this week and needed a place to stay tonight," he admitted.

"The detour here only saves ye what…45 minutes of driving?"

"Well and I have no spent quality time with my kin in ages, ye eejit!"

Edward's laugh rang through the room as he clasped his brother on the back. "Good to see ye, man."

Isabella felt an inkling to play host for her husband's younger brother, the habits of a previous life pushing on her firmly. It had only been a few months since she had welcomed Tom into their home that lacked in warmth what it had in size.

Jake's brother, Tom, had always been too loud, too confident, and too entitled for her to truly connect with him. In her better moments, and certainly at the beginning of their relationship, she had developed a fondness for his youthful exuberance. With his lesser qualities, she knew she was annoyed by something about him, but could not articulate what that was exactly until she was away from people who similarly possessed those traits – often found in the echelons of Wall Street.

Both the Black Montgomery boys had been raised to take what they want and make noise along the way.

Isabella's mind flashed to Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery who had started the year with two healthy sons.

Isabella shivered, huddling into her sweater.

Rather than host, she observed as Edward easily interacted with Emmett, and Emmett made himself right at home.

She watched him pop into the fridge and help himself to some left-over beans and potatoes that Edward had cooked a few days ago. He spoke to Edward (and her, maybe, she really could not be sure), about the details of the piping camp he was teaching for the "elder folk in Inverness," with his mouth full of potatoes.

"They go and buy these fancy pipes and expect us to teach 'em how to use them when they cannae even get up and down a scale on the chanter," he explained.

Edward, upon seeing her confusion, explained that a chanter was a practice instrument similar to a recorder or whistle. Emmett swallowed another bite of potatoes before launching into how much some of the students pay for their instruments that they then have no idea what to do with.

As he spoke, she realized with a start that this was more his home than her home.

He had spent his teen years in this home with his father, brother, and sister, the two boys crammed upstairs.

This was more his home than hers.

The thought left her surprisingly unsettled.

~O~

A few hours later, Isabella had excused herself to bed, leaving Emmett and Edward still leaning against the kitchen counter opposite of one another. Edward was finishing his second pint of Tennent's and Emmett was enjoying a bottomless glass of 12-year Sleat whisky.

The pair had lapsed into a comfortable silence, having exhausted themselves from catching up. Prior to Edward's wedding, it had been a few months since they had seen each other. Emmett had left for Glasgow only two months before their father had died and it had been tough to go from a family of four to two in a matter of weeks.

In their silence, they could hear the hissing of the shower ceasing as Isabella finished up in the bathroom. Emmett continued to nurse his drink until they heard her feet pad a few steps across the hallway and into her room. If Edward had been counting, he would have sworn Emmett waited no more than four seconds after her bedroom door closed before turning his gaze squarely on him.

"How is this marriage scheme of yours suiting ye?"

Edward slowly lowered the beer from his mouth, looking carefully at his brother.

"What do ye mean by that?" he asked.

For a moment, he had hoped that he might be able to converse with his only brother about being a married man in a normal manner that he imagined brothers might be able to discuss such things. From Emmett's tone, however, he doubted that the easy acceptance that Emmett had managed to muster -or fake- at their wedding reception had lasted beyond their honeymoon.

Emmett rolled his eyes. "Are we pretending then, that it's a normal thing ye did a few weeks ago?"

Edward's lips settled into a hard line as he stared at his brother, privately stung.

"I did what I had to do," he finally replied.

"Aye," Emmett agreed slowly, a dubious tone to his voice that his brother narrowed his eyes at.

"What are ye on about?" Edward accused.

"I dinnae insult her honor or anything, mate," he argued lowly.

"Aye, but ye clearly have something ye would like to say on the matter," he challenged in an equally low voice.

"And is that so wrong?" Emmett asked evenly before emotion slipped into his tone, "Ye are my one and only brother! My closest kin. Am I not allowed to have something to say on the matter?"

"Aye, so bloody say it."

"It is perfectly reasonable to ask my brother how his marriage with a random American woman - who he knew for less than 24 hours before marrying in front of friends and family – a woman who has no real reason for marrying said brother but does have unexplained access to large amounts of cash, is going!"

"Lower yer voice," Edward growled, casting a look over in the direction of Isabella's bedroom as Emmett's voice increased.

Emmett gave his older brother the same careful look that he had just been on the receiving end of.

"No one said anything at the time," he continued, laying out the heart of what had been bothering him. "All I got was a call from Alice that a stranger had showed up to save the distillery and that I should get to Skye immediately with my pipes to play a wedding."

Edward made a distinctly Scottish noise, but Emmett continued.

It wasn't as if Edward could dispute the summary.

"You lied to everyone about it – aye, ah ken why ye did it but it was still a lie, and the people who did ken the truth seemed to have lost their minds, especially our crazy aunt! Did no one stop to tell ye that what ye were doing was – and still bloody is – insane?"

Edward's fingers clenched around the aluminum can, but he worked to unclench them. Rather than defend Bella or her role, he focused on the center of the accusation. "What would ye have me do then? I was out of time and out of money. MacLeod was going to take the distillery that Monday."

Emmett's eyes widened in surprise.

"What?"

Edward shook his head, losing some of the heat in his voice as he said, "It was bad, Em. We had no business days left with Sleat."

Emmett had the grace to look abashed. "How did it get so bad?"

The other MacDonald siblings who both technically had ownership rights to the distillery as well as Edward, knew that Sleat had been in financial trouble, and upon Isabella showing up with her proposition, Edward had been forced to inform Alice as to the extent of the trouble, but Emmett had not benefited from the same knowledge.

Edward a long drink of his beer. "The bloody recession and the bloody banks. The wee bastard trapped me and took great pleasure in doing so. We were close to the end there."

"Shite," Emmett breathed.

Edward nodded.

"So, when a braw lass shows up and offers me a way out of that fate in exchange for my last name, what could I do but accept?"

Emmett rubbed at his face as he processed this information.

"Ye ken nothing about her."

"We had no time," he retorted.

Emmett's mouth moved but no sound came out as he attempted to rebuke the story.

"Besides, I do not understand it exactly, but I trust her."

"Aye," was all Emmett said.

"If our visitor had come a month earlier, it would be a different story."

It was more of an internal musing that had slipped out of his mouth than an actual piece of conversation.

Emmett's brows furrowed and Edward realized his error before his brother even spoke.

"What visitor?"

"Oh no one, just a business man," Edward dismissed, swallowing a gulp beer.

"What business?"

"Not important."

"I dinnae believe ye."

"That's fine."

"Ye bawbag, what business?"

Edward shook his head.

Emmett leveled him with a hard stare, the warmth sliding out of his brown eyes. "Is that how it is between us now? Half-truths and secrets?"

The accusation stung Edward more than he cared to admit. He raised the beer back to his lips and assessed the sharp lines on his brother's face and decided that he would not likely back down on this without a fight. He rarely did.

"A business called Diageo," he said slowly.

"And what does Diageo do?" Emmett asked, equally as slowly.

Edward let out a deep breath.

"They're a drink conglomerate."

Emmett waited.

Again, Edward lost than standoff.

"They own Guinness, Smirnoff, Bailey's, stuff like that, ye ken?"

"And what? They want to own Sleat or something too?"

Edward sat down his beer on the counter and rubbed at the right side of his face tiredly and slowly.

"Aye, that was the offer."

Emmett studied his brother.

"And?"

"And what?" Edward asked in irritation.

"Are ye going to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Sell the distillery."

Before Edward could decide how to respond, Emmett was already continuing his line of thought.

"Ye would be oot the window if ye dinnae."

"Why do ye think we should sell?"

"Why wouldn't ye?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

Emmett was visibly flabbergasted. "And what the hell would those be? Sadism? Stupidity? Stubbornness? The pretty lass ye call a wife? Any combination or all of them?"

"That's your heritage! Sleat has been in the family for generations and ye well ken that!

"Aye, and it could certainly stay in the family. Dinnae tell me they would not let ye keep distilling?"

"That is no the point and ye well ken it."

"Then what is the point?"

When Edward said nothing, Emmett leaned back from the counter.

"It's her, isn't it?"

Edward shook his head with the very stubbornness that his brother accused him of being guilty of.

"She's got a plan."

Emmett slapped his head down into his palm.

"What plan? What is the plan? What the bloody hell could it be?"

Edward did not immediately say anything, and Emmett pounced once again.

"Ye dinnae ken, do ye? Ye have no clue? And let me guess – ye have no clue what she has ever done to make her even the slightest bit…the slightest bit qualified to run a business like this?"

Edward took a swig of his beer and narrowed his eyes but did not deny the accusation.

"Ye absolute numpty!"

"I trust her."

"And why on earth would ye do that? Ye know next to nothing about her – despite this farce of a marriage. Ye have no idea if she has any idea what she's doing or why she's doing it in the first place. For all ye know, she could be a spy! She could be a spy for one of…Diageo's competitors and this is a sabotage. Hell, she could be working for MacLeod!"

Edward straightened up and braced his shoulders as he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "It's yer bloody bum that's oot the window!"

Emmett gave him a harsh look that indicated he did not agree.

"Do ye even hear yerself? Bella? A spy? Ye've lost yer mind!"

"No I havena – but I am no entirely certain that ye are of sound mind, brother! Why would I have any reason to think otherwise? I've spent 10 minutes dancing with her at a fake wedding, I can hardly ascertain her character from that!"

Edward shook his head, the spark of anger burning brighter, despite all his attempts to stifle it.

Emmett, however, was not finished yet.

"What is yer plan with her then? Did ye ever stop to think about that?"

Edward raised his eyebrows.

"Let's say her little plan works and Sleat is doing alright in a couple of months, maybe a year. Are ye going to stay in an arranged marriage in bloody 2008? Pay her the money back and divorce her? Not pay her the money back and divorce her? Does this little agreement of yers have _any_ wee bit of details, ye great glaikit?"

Despite not actually having an answer to the accusations, Edward started to say, "We di-"

"-dinnae have time, sure. Well ye have time now! And have ye even so much as discussed it? Or are ye that enamored with her money and pretty face?"

"Bite yer tongue, ye grabbit!"

At Edward's sharp and furious tone, Emmett finally stood down.

"Perhaps the time to talk about Sleat was years ago, when we came back to Skye after Maw died and we helped Da out with distilling," Edward seethed, "But ye never wanted to run it, ye never wanted to be responsible for it…ye never wanted to be a distiller. Hell, ye never wanted to live on Skye! Ye left back for Glasgow the first chance ye had, leaving me and Da.

"And when Da died and it was just me….well I am sorry that I have no been able to pay back thousands and thousands of bloody pounds in loans or expand production and grow sales in a global recession. I am sorry for that, truly I am, but when ye left, ye lost the right to say a damn thing about it. Including how I run it now and what I may or may not do to keep the doors to our heritage open."

Edward swallowed back the rest of his beer and then pointed it to the stairway.

"Ye can stay upstairs for the night, it should be all set for ye. But don't ye dare come into this house and insult a woman who, under Scottish law, is my wife. Fake or no, she is my family right now."

Emmett raised his eyebrows incredulously, lifted the remaining contents of his glass to his lips and tossed it back, and then shook his head.

"I'll be gone before morning light."

* * *

Hmmm. Sometimes adult siblings can be tricky.

Up next: distilling some whisky.

All the love.


	21. Distilling Day

Esme had a knot at the base of her neck that had been there ever since she woke up.

She rubbed at it as she sat down on the old, worn leather couch, feeling it hug her into its depths. It was one of the first purchases she and Carlisle had made when they got married all those years ago. Her mother had insisted that she select something that would last them longer, even if it did cost more. It had cost an arm and a leg, but they had certainly got their use out of it.

"Yer neck still bothering ye, sweet?" Carlisle asked, walking into the room having changed into his sleepwear.

"A bit," she said, rolling it from side to side to try and get the kink out.

Her hands were replaced by warm, rough hands. The pressure was firm but gentle and she let out a long sigh at the sensation.

"Ye work too hard," he murmured gruffly but leaned down and placed a kiss at her temple.

Esme swallowed a sigh.

They had meant to slow down the two of them.

But then they had lost so much financially.

They both would be working for a long time now, before they could slow down.

"Alice said Finlay was thinking about coming through Skye, did you see him?" asked Esme. She enjoyed spending time with her sweet niece, not the least of all because she knew everything about everyone.

"No," Carlisle replied, continuing to rub at the knot.

"Hmm," Esme mussed to herself.

"But I would guess he wanted to see Edward more than us, so I would no be surprised if he did swing through and stop there."

"Yes," she agreed, "You're right, of course. He did seem unsettled at the wedding, but of course he had to be back to Glasgow the next day."

"Aye," Carlisle said.

"Those boys always work it out. Though, I should ask Alice if he's said anything."

Carlisle made a noise at the back of his throat that was neither agreement or dismissal.

"I should see if we have any voice messages," Esme said, moving to get up.

"No, ye stay put." Carlisle took three steps over to where their phone sat in its base. There was a blinking green light to indicate that they had at least one new message.

"You have one new message. To hear the one new message, pre-"

Carlisle interrupted the voice by pressing one.

"Esme! The most wonderful thing!"

The aforementioned woman sat up straight and looked at the phone in surprise, immediately identifying her sister's voice.

"A donor from a children's foundation in the area has chosen Chase as the recipient of a miracle fund or something, I don't remember the exact name. All of his expenses are covered Esme! I…I can't even believe it, I am shaking. We can afford to see the best doctors and the best specialists. Esme I…" they listened as she swallowed audibly and heard her voice crack, "I cannot even believe it. We will be okay. We'll be okay, Esme."

Esme blinked back tears of her as she heard her little sister say, "Give my love to the family. Talk to you soon – love you!"

~O~

Isabella was pacing around with a balance sheet in her hands. It was pages and pages long and she was squinting from staring at it for so long. Her lower back was bothering her from all the sitting, so, she found herself pacing as she reviewed all of the numbers and determined their accuracy. She had spent hours combing through all of their financials, receipts, bills, ledgers, etc. and she was going to be damn certain that she had gotten it right.

She paused to take a sip out of the mug she was holding in her other hand, feeling the drink warm her. She hadn't drunk tea in years, but since arriving in the United Kingdom had picked up the habit.

As she took another sip, the door to the office opened, making her halt her pacing.

"Are ye in the middle of something, hen?"

"A great breakfast tea and a great balance sheet," she replied dryly.

Edward's lips quirked into a grin. "Aye. Do ye need to finish one or both today?"

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "No…"

"It's a distilling day. I know ye went on that tour with Jasper, but it's a whole other thing to see it actually happening, ye ken?"

Isabella glanced down at her papers and then back at Edward and whatever was in her face must have been what he was looking for.

"Aye, good enough, come on," he said, coming over and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"But-"

"Ye'll have nothing to plan for if we don't get this whisky made."

"Well, with the lead time of Scotch being at least 12 years, we would still need a plan for at lea- "

"Aye, enough out of ye," he said, plucking the papers out of her hand and setting them on the desk. This was quickly repeated with the tea before he led her to the door. "Think of it as an initiation."

"To Scotland or to Sleat?"

"Aye."

Isabella shook her head with a wry grin.

They joined Carlisle and Jasper in the doorway to the still house. Jasper was slipping into some industrial boots and Carlisle was scrubbing his hands in the sink. They gave her smiles and hellos as they did this. "Robert and Ian are out on the boats," Edward explained, "and we usually have at least four people."

Isabella thought of his second cousin and his large frame. "Fortunately for you, I'm sure I can lift just as heavy of weights as Robert can."

"That's the spirit, lass!" Jasper cheered, clapping her on the back as he stood up. "Use yer knees and not yer back, aye?"

"Here Bella," Edward said, getting her attention. "Ye have the bonniest hair but I dinnae think it will add much to the malt."

Isabella felt a warm tingle on her cheeks which seemed to prevent her from formulating a response. Instead, she took the hair net out of his hands and went to work tucking all of her locks into it. The bun fit in easily enough, it was the strands of baby hairs that had broken over the years that wouldn't stay in.

"Ready," she announced when it was clear that they were all waiting for her.

Edward turned his head and then smiled warmly at her. It was the type of smile that was genuine and unguarded and made her feel as human as could be.

He lifted his hand and tucked a strand that she had missed easily behind her ear. "Now yer perfect," he said quietly.

Isabella gave a quiet laugh but smiled, not catching the look that Carlisle and Jasper exchanged behind Edward.

Carlisle and Jasper moved expertly around the warehouse, doing nearly all of the work while Edward narrated to Isabella what exactly they were doing. They navigated around the large, 10-foot-tall stills easily, knowing which pipes and hoses connected to what.

"See those silver pipes back there? At the bottom of that large column? What that will be doing is keeping the heavier vapors down and making the purified alcohol vapors start to rise up. Ye see? To do that, there are copper plates in each spy glass right there, and in a wee bit, we're going to run cold water through there and separate the vapors into what we do want and what we don't, and they will come out of that condenser at the end right there."

Isabella listened with rapt attention as he spoke.

"Once we get to that stage, we'll have all the alcohol vapor that we want, but I have yet to meet someone who wants to drink vapor, so we condense it. In that condenser, there's a large copper coil and we will have all the vapors in there. We'll send that cold water through the coil so that it moves it from a vapor back to a liquid."

Edward paused and looked at her. "Does that make sense?"

Isabella nodded.

"Great, we won't be doing that for a while yet."

Isabella listened as they moved over to the wash still and Edward explained how it is used in the distillation process. She remembered some of what he was saying from her tour with Jasper, but Edward was more thorough and had an even more pronounced passion than Jasper did for it.

It was the first time since she had met him that he had really been in his element.

 _He's attractive_.

The thought hit her like a cinder block dropped from the top of a building.

Physically, she had recognized that he was attractive. She had noticed the first day she met him. He was tall and strong with kind blue eyes and soft copper colored hair. He had a dimple when he smiled, and his teeth were mostly straight. He had strong cheekbones and a symmetrical face. She had seen this all, of course, but she had been too distracted to give it much thought.

Here though, exuding competence and ease as he spoke, it was impossible _not_ to bear it much thought.

"…of the beer. This one is 15,000 liters. A lot of places have 30,000 liters but it's never seemed worth the investment to us. How are we doing on time?"

Jasper nodded at the small window up at the neck of the wash still. "Just about to get interesting."

Isabella looked at Edward for an explanation.

"The supply of gaseous substances leads to a wee bit of overpressure in the still and the gases will rise to the neck, right by the window there. But the walls are still cold and that's where they will condense. More and more of those droplets will start adding up and as the still is heated to 78 degrees Celsius, the liquid surface will get turbulent. Ye'll start to see big bubbles, foam, and splashes."

Edward moved a wide wooden bench over to the still and nodded again at the window. "If the boiling temperature gets too high, the liquid can get into the condenser through that arm which will clog the pipes of the condensers. So, we have the window to watch." Edward helped her to stand up on the bench so that she could see into the dark little window as well.

"For how long?" Bella asked.

"Until we can be sure that it will no get into the pipes."

"Didn't you say this stage lasts a few hours?"

"At least," Edward replied with a smirk.

Isabella looked from the little window and then back to him. "Surely there must be a more efficient way."

Edward shrugged. "Some distilleries will put soap into the wash while it's boiling. It destroys the surface tension and prevents it from going over."

Isabella thought back to the Chemistry class she had taken 10 years ago. "Does the temperature destroy the soap then so it doesn't get in?"

"Aye," Edward said approvingly. "But, I dinnae think we can brand ourselves as pure if we're doing a wee bit of cheating in the process. This method has worked for generations of McDonalds, I'm no going to be the one who says it does no."

Isabella didn't bother to say that Diageo would certainly require a wee bit of cheating; capitalism was built on exploiting efficiencies. But they had not brought up the business man since the day he had made his pitch, and that seemed to be suiting both of them as they figured out how to move forward together.

For the next couple of hours as they stood on that bench and watched the wash, they talked easily about all things Scotch. Isabella listened to what Edward would tell her about the distilling process, the history, and Sleat's specific history, and would ask questions, not bothering to hide the genuine curiosity she had about the drink. As she listened, she felt closer with her Grandad and closer with her husband.

Isabella interrupted him at one point to nod at the window. "Is it still good?"

Edward looked deeper into the window before hollering, "Jasper! Temperature check! I dinnae like how close we're getting over here."

Jasper, who was at the other side of the still at the workbench, went over to the gauges and yelled back, "Aye, taking it down three degrees."

"Two should do for now," Edward called back.

The mixture responded slowly but did get less violent in nature.

"Good eye, Bella. We'll make a distiller out of ye yet," he said in that same approving tone. "But maybe not the hair of yours." He lifted his hand and brushed another stray hair from her cheek back to one of her ears.

Isabella laughed softly.

Edward smiled at the laughter, his dimple appearing as he did so.

"We'll let Carlisle take over here so we can go get a bit to eat, but when we're back, we'll move the mix into that spirit still," he said, nodding to the other large copper container. "We'll drain it with a heat exchanger. Once we get it going in that still, we'll deal with the solid parts of the grains that are left from the wash. We are able to concentrate the pot ale through evaporation and then we can sell it as an animal feed. Ye'll remember yer question about what we were doing selling coo food? Aye, it's actually a pretty high-quality feed."

"I don't think it could get more Scottish than someone feeding their Highland cow food left over from Scotch distilling."

"Ye know Bella," he said, stepping down off of the bench and offering her a hand. "Ye just might be onto something."

~O~

The second round of distillation was a slower and more careful process and therefore, went slower. It was because, according to Edward, the second distillation had a much bigger influence on the taste of the whisky. The slower, the better the alcohol and flavor substances could be separated. That being said, it was still the same process as the wash still. They watched as the alcohol neared boiling point and the volatile foreshots evaporated.

Edward explained that they did not what the foreshots and they redirected them into the contraction called the "spirit safe" and did not let them go into the "spirit receiver." Jasper had not gotten into the nitty gritty details of that process on the tour, so Edward continued to have Isabella's rapt attention.

"Why is it all padlocked?" she asked, looking at the industrial locks around some of the pipework.

"Ah, British law. Unlike American law," he said teasingly, "stillmen are not allowed to taste the spirit. Which makes it a wee bit difficult to know when these foreshots that we dinnae want have run through and the middle cut that we do want has started. Luckily, we have generations of knowledge to have it pretty well mapped out of when that will start."

"Do you have a general disdain for Americans?" she retorted.

"No, no, I am verra fond of ye Americans," he grinned. "More of a general disdain for Mel Gibson and yer whiskey production."

Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"Two years is all that they require their whisky to be aged in. Two years is absolutely no time at all! Ye will never get as deep or rich of a flavor. And they have laws requiring them to use new barrels. It works for us because we'll buy their used barrels so our whisky can have a stronger flavor, but it's rubbish for their drink. And if you have laws on that, why don't you have laws about the cutting process?"

"Is that all?"

"That is only the top of the list."

"Should I not get you started on people that add wood chips to the blend to make it taste like Scotch without properly aging it?"

He gave her a hard look.

"Ye should not."

"Right."

"Anyway," he continued with a smirk, "If ye look at the safe, ye can see all of those glass boxes. As we collect the spirit, those wee instruments will start to swim. We'll measure the density of the whisky with that thing called a hydrometer and we can determine the alcohol content with that chart over by Jasper, based on what we're looking for. I have it pretty well memorized after all these years, but a reference never hurt anyone."

"How long does this stage take?" Isabella asked.

"Anywhere from 4-8 hours," he replied. "So we'll likely be here well into the night."

Isabella opened her mouth to reply but as an afterthought, Edward added, "Unless of course ye dinnae want to. Ye could always take the car home if ye get tired."

Other than a slight ache in her lower back that she attributed to the time on her feet, she was fine, and said as much.

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty tough."

Though she had said it jokingly, he nodded seriously.

"Aye, I know ye are."

Isabella blinked in surprise and felt off-balance at the intent look in his eyes. She swallowed and then looked back over in the direction of the pipes.

"And then temperature will play a large part in the density, yes?"

Edward nodded, following her gaze. "Aye. We will want to keep an eye on the temperature the whole time. And once the foreshots are finished and the hearts are coming, the foreshots will be led back that low wine receiver. They will interact really nicely with the copper in the still, a sort of catalytic reaction which will transform the buggers into a nice aromatic substance. But once they're in that receiver, Jasper and I will change the flow direction to get those hearts into the receiver.

"That's where we have to be extra careful. We've ruined batches before if we do it too early because the spirit will taste too strong, too aggressive. Whereas doing it a little later, it does no matter and we will no be wasting any alcohol. Once the middle cut is distilled, we'll call it a night."

Isabella nodded, recognizing most of what he was talking about.

"And Esme usually sends food on distilling days, so hopefully Alice will pop over."

"Good practice to keep your wife fed?" Isabella asked with a smirk.

Edward grinned boyishly, "Aye, now ye are catching on."

"So back to the original question of yers, yes, we'll also keep a close eye on the temperature so that we can rectify any issues with the density and keep it all under control. Ye'll be doing that once we get closer to the middle cut coming in a couple of hours."

"And this whole time I thought you had me here solely as a ploy to spend time with me," Isabella said teasingly, having recovered from her earlier comment while he was speaking. Her eyes widened then, and she felt a blush over her cheeks as she realized what a flirtatious comment she had just made.

Edward was not fazed.

"Aye, that too."

He turned his back and didn't see the pleased smile that graced her face.

Perhaps they would be just fine, the two of them.

* * *

Perhaps indeed.

Wash your hands and stay home with your fevers. Should be a good month to dive into some of those fics you've been meaning to read.

All the love.


	22. Collapse

Isabella paced back and forth in her home office.

She had been scheduled to have dinner with her father. He had attended Tom's funeral a few weeks prior and in a rare show of compassion, had been calling her more frequently to check in on her and Jake. She had just been getting into her car when her Blackberry rang.

Before she could even say hello, Charles was speaking.

"Isabella, cancel our dinner. I have to go down to the Fed."

She stiffened at the strict tone. "What's wrong?"

"Lehman Brothers ran out of money. Merrill Lynch is on the verge of it."

Isabella's mouth had fallen open; no sound came out.

"Paulson and Geithner have called an emergency meeting with all of the CEOs. I'm in the car with the Goldman execs now. I will call you when I know more."

Isabella closed her mouth and swallowed.

"Don't say a word to your husband."

Dial tone.

That call had been two hours ago, and Isabella was getting more and more agitated as the time crawled by. She had even found herself picking at her split ends, a nervous habit she had had when she was a kid. Every time she realized she was doing it, she threw her hair harshly into a ponytail, not noticing a few minutes later when she unconsciously pulled the pony tail out.

It was a Sunday evening; the markets weren't even open.

A situation like this, one of the world's oldest and most venerated financial institutions on the verge of crumbling, had never happened.

It was unprecedented in every way and the consequences would be dire.

Isabella didn't look for Jake. She knew he was home, but she didn't dare leave her office, not even to use the restroom. He had been in a bad state since his brother died, and the news of his employer's demise would only make it worse.

Lehman Brothers declaring bankruptcy would be Armageddon.

It would have dire consequences across the world.

She knew it with utmost certainty.

Twisting her fingers together against her upset stomach, Isabella knew that entire countries economies failing was not out of the realm of possibility.

Finally, the phone rang.

"What's going on?" she asked immediately.

The cool tone in her father's voice remained the same as the first call. "Bank of America has agreed to buy Merrill Lynch."

"And Lehman?"

"Barclays was interested but Paulson wouldn't give the go ahead to provide the financial guarantee that the British regulators are insisting on."

"Bankruptcy then," she accused flatly.

"It's the only thing that will calm the markets and let us move forward."

"Calm the markets?! Dad, the system will collapse! People will lose everything!"

Charles did not respond well to what he considered hysterics. "It will be fine."

"AIG owns all of those credit default swaps – if Lehman goes down, Dad, the largest and oldest insurance agency will go down with them. The economy will collapse!"

"It will be fine. There is going to be a bailout," he said emotionlessly. "Paulson is going to Congress later this week once it becomes clear that AIG will fail."

"What if Congress refuses?" she challenged, feeling her eyes pricked with anger.

Charles was silent for a moment before replying.

"This system works because our fate is tied with the rest of every other American. They can't refuse."

 _~O~_

"Lass, ye look tired."

Isabella looked at Robert and frowned.

"Still bonnie, dinnae be mistaken me," he backtracked. "Just like ye need a good rest."

Considering she had been sleepily rubbing at her face and yawning when he had entered the distillery office, she could not fault his observations.

"You might be onto something," she agreed grudgingly. It was mid-afternoon and she had slept hardly two hours the night before, an upset stomach and a sore throat keeping her up.

"Come on then, I'll take ye home," he said, reaching to grab her coat off the rack by the door. "No use killing yerself over a bit of paperwork that can wait till tomorrow."

Isabella frowned. While she was hardly in the midst of a breakthrough in crafting the business plan, she felt she had a lot to do yet.

"Come on," he insisted, holding her coat out. "I'm going down to the docks, Edward's ho- I mean _yer_ home, is no far."

A thin layer of sweat had recently appeared on the nape of her neck and she shivered from chill.

"Perhaps you're right," she agreed reluctantly, standing up from the office desk.

Robert looked undeniably pleased to be able to be of use. She allowed him to help her into her coat before grabbing her purse from the corner of the table.

"I should tell Edward," she remarked as they left the office.

"My keys are back where he is," Robert volunteered, "I'll tell him. Wait here."

Before she could protest, he was jogging down the hallway. Feeling another wave of cold, she shivered, huddling into her jacket with little reprieve.

~O~

Robert grabbed his keys off the hook where they hung during the day.

Just as he was turning to go find Edward, he remembered the bottle of whisky his father had been asking for weeks.

"Shite," he murmured, completely almost forgetting it. Again.

Determined and not the least bit triumphant, Robert grabbed the 14 year that he had been asking about from the shelf where he kept other belongings he had amassed.

"Yer coming with me," he muttered as he turned and left the still house, feeling there was something he was forgetting.

~O~

At Edward's home on the Trotternish peninsula, Isabella could not get warm.

She was walking around with two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of fleece leggings, a t-shirt, a long-sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, and a giant plaid scarf that could have very well been a blanket. And still, she felt chilled to the bone.

In the midst of a half-hearted attempt at building a fire, she gave up. The kindling would not catch fire and she didn't have the energy to battle it. Edward would be home soon and he was usually able to build a roaring flame within minutes.

Isabella rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

She didn't really have anything warm. The thin layers of cotton were not fighting off the chill. She thought back to one of Edward's remarks that they really ought to get her warmer clothing to which she had replied wryly with her determined reliance on her trusty University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt.

"Might have been right about that one, MacDonald," she muttered in annoyance.

Considering her options for a moment, she then remembered that Alice had, (does currently? It was still unclear), lived there and she had certainly been prepared for Scottish winters.

With a dismissive, internal convincing that they were close enough to the same size, Isabella climbed up the steep stair case that she had never ascended, finding the only room in the house she had not been in.

Isabella let out a long breath, feeling surprisingly exhausted from the 12 stairs. She wiped at the thin layer of sweat on her forehead, feeling dizzy, and considered that perhaps she might be the next victim to the flu.

It seemed that Alice had moved out some of her stuff, but most of her personal decorative items were still lying about. To Isabella's untrained eye, it looked like the typical bedroom of an 18-year-old girl.

Right. Dresser is probably the best place to start.

Isabella walked around to the other side of the bedroom, crossing the bed that seemed to be propped on an absurdly sized box spring. The dresser had tangled necklaces tossed carelessly into a ceramic, undoubtedly homemade pinch pot. There was a stack of notebooks next to the lamp. And a picture of the MacDonald family.

Curious and momentarily forgetting her mission, she picked up the 5x7 frame.

It must have been a 10-year-old picture, at least.

Isabella grinned as she realized that prior to settling into a cooper, chestnut color, Edward's hair had been as ginger could be as a child. Him and a very young Alice bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the picture, the woman who could be no one else than their mother. Emmet, just two years younger than his brother, clearly favored his father with their dark hair and thin build.

The whole lot of them wore identical smiles, the dimples all coming from their mother.

Isabella's heart clenched, feeling _happysad_ as her grandmother used to describe it.

Overcome by a swarm of dizziness, she didn't even have time to set down the photograph before she felt herself fall backwards.

And everything went black.

* * *

oh dear.

as I mentioned on twitter, it was not necessarily my intent to have this segment of the story in which the characters are facing the onset of the great recession of 2008 -watching the banks fail and the government grant bailouts while the public gets laid off and left to deal with the aftermath - be posted the same time as we are experiencing such things in 2020. but perhaps the harsh reactions of our scots when it comes to bankers make a wee bit more sense.

sending all my love to all of you. may you stay healthy and hopeful for sunny skies ahead.

more to come soon.


	23. Dread

Mature content/reader discretion is advised in the first section. Be kind to yourself.

* * *

Isabella had been trying to sleep.

Her usual trick of counting backwards from 121 was not working and by the time she had gotten to 1 twice, she was more annoyed than asleep. She was especially annoyed because she had not been sleeping well in the past few weeks.

Granted, very few people had been sleeping well lately.

Lehman Brothers, one of the most prestigious players on Wall Street, had filed for bankruptcy protection. The sub-prime crisis had been escalating for weeks, but Lehman collapsing was the shot heard round the world. Merrill Lynch, one of the other older and most respected firms in the financial world capitol, had just been bought, saving it from bankruptcy.

Economies all around the globe were plunging into recessions following the collapses.

The dollar had fallen against the euro and the yen and the end of the carnage did not seem near sight.

Isabella had been monitoring the situation privately for over a year now.

That was the worst part of it all.

No one she worked with was really surprised. The fact that Lehman actually failed was a shock, but the fact that the market busted was not.

It wasn't a shock to them like it was to the rest of the world. Many of them who paid enough attention were wary of something like this happening. While they couldn't have predicted how extensive the rippling effects would be, they would have predicted an end to the booming period of growth they had seen since the last bust.

Jake's job was gone.

His father was finding him a spot on Wall Street so that he would still be one of the few who ended up on his feet relatively soon, but as of now, Jake had walked out of his office with a cardboard box like everyone else.

Isabella had always been conservative with her money. She made wise investments and because of her wariness in the real estate bubble, she had shied away from putting all of her eggs in that basket.

Jake, on the other hand, had lost millions and millions of dollars in the span of one day.

He had been out almost every night.

Isabella, having been made to feel guilty that she still had a good job, stayed quiet and let him cope as he felt he had to.

At the sound of the door creaking open, Isabella was abruptly pulled from her musings. With a quick glance at the alarm clock, Isabella saw that it was 1am, which for all intents and purposes, was early for Jake.

Not in the mood to talk -or argue- with him, Isabella stayed where she was on her side facing away from the door, her eyes closed. She hoped that he would just grab some things and head down to the basement as he had been doing for awhile now. But his footsteps did not leave the room. Instead, she heard him get closer to the bed. Then, she heard rustling and felt the mattress dip. She frowned to herself as her husband rolled from his side so that he was nestled against her.

He reeked.

Isabella's nose wrinkled as she smelled alcohol and something mustier. She gave a discreet sniff and then her eyes opened.

Jake reeked of sex.

"Isabella? Isabella, Isabella babe wake up."

For a moment, she did not move.

"Isabella!" he said, louder, this time, giving her shoulder a firm shake.

With a sigh, she turned and in a deceivingly sleepy voice said, "Jake? What time is it?"

"Who cares?" Jake said, wasting no time in shifting so that his body was on top of hers. "Babe, I need you."

Isabella stiffened as she felt his engorged penis against her leg.

"Jake, it's late," she said, moving to roll away from him.

He pressed his weight down against her, forcing her to stay exactly where she was.

"I'll be quick. I want you so bad."

"Jake…" she said warningly, trying again with more force to roll from under him.

Maintaining pressure on her, he leaned down and blindly groped at her midsection until he found the rim to the sleeping shorts she was wearing. "Ahh, that's right babe, fight against me, you know I love it when you do that."

With a firmer voice, she insisted, "Jake, stop, I'm tired, I need to sleep."

Jake's fingers gripped the hem of the shorts and started to push them down.

As Isabella tried to roll out from under him, she realized that she could not move. She could not move unless Jake allowed her to.

Physically, she was not strong enough.

It was the first time in her life she had ever thought that about a man.

An unknown bubble of fear rose up in her.

"No, Jake," she said, more frantically. As she did, she reached down with both of her hands to try and pull her shorts back up, fully intending on getting out of the bed and going to a different bedroom. And locking the door behind her.

"Shh shh shhh," he whispered sloppily as he grabbed both of her wrists and then pinned them above her head. This left his other hand free to pull her shorts down the rest of the way. "I'll be quick, babe."

Isabella jerked around, trying to wiggle her hands free from the vice grip he had them in. She tried to lift her legs up and kick up, but his weight kept all of her firmly pressed against the mattress.

"Jake! Stop! I do not want to."

The only response of her husband was to cover her lips with his own, forcing his tongue down her throat while simultaneously claiming his marital dues.

She wasn't sure how long he lasted, but by the time he removed both his tongue and his limp penis from her, she could feel the silent tears of fury falling from the sides of her eyes.

"I hate you so much right now."

Jake was already asleep and didn't see her run out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

~O~

It was Carlisle who was the one who had told him that it was important to keep your wife fed. It had been the only advice he had shared with his nephew on the night of his impromptu stag party.

He never said anything about not losing your wife.

After he had finished with his uncle in the latest stage in the batch of whisky they were distilling, Edward had gone to the office in search of his wife. She had looked paler than usual over breakfast and he wanted to make sure she was not coming down with anything.

Swinging through the lobby, he nodded at Jasper. "Can ye lock up in a few minutes?"

Not looking up from the monitor attached to the cash register, he said, "Sure thing boss."

When he entered the office and did not find her there, he was not immediately alarmed. Instead, he examined the room, noting that both her coat and her purse were no longer there.

He hummed in contemplation to himself before turning and going back to the lobby.

"Jasper?" he called, "Mate, have ye seen Bella?"

That got his cousin's attention. He looked up from the monitor and thought about it before shaking his head. "No, no since lunch."

Edward frowned.

"Is she no here?" he asked.

"Ah dinnae ken," Edward said slowly.

Isabella had never gone anywhere without him. Not in her whole time being in Scotland. With a start, he realized they had been in the same building at all times unless she had stayed at home while he had run an errand.

Jasper frowned. "I'll help ye look around the shop, aye?"

Edward nodded.

The distillery was not necessarily a small operation, but there were very few places she would have ended up and it did not take long to search them all.

"Carlisle…have ye seen Bella at all?"

Carlisle lowered the hose he had been using to clean some of the large aluminum containers. He had the same frown on his face that his song had. "No, I dinnae think I've seen her since lunchtime. Why?"

"She's not here," Edward replied tersely.

"She's gone?" he repeated back in surprise.

"Aye."

Carlisle saw in Edward's eyes the trepidation that his son had missed.

"I'm sure she's nearby," he said calmly.

 _She wouldn't have left. Not in broad daylight_ , was what his face said.

Edward nodded, "Aye. I'll call Esme and see if she is at the Inn."

Carlisle stared for a moment but nodded. "She's nearby," he repeated in what was meant to be a tone of reassurance.

Edward nodded, pushing down the feeling of fear in his stomach.

~O~

Ignoring the slight tremor in his fingers, Edward punched in the familiar phone number in the telephone in the office. He sat down in the chair that had recently been predominantly occupied by Isabella, his foot tapping impatiently as he listened to several bouts of rings before the sound of the phone coming off the hook came across the line.

"Isles Inn, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Auntie."

"Edward, hello my love!" his aunt's sweet British voice rang. "Forgive me, but is this terribly important? The girls and I are busy with the happy hour crowd."

"Has Bella been there?" he blurted.

"At Isles? Your Bella?"

"Aye," he replied shortly.

"No, I have not seen her," Esme said slowly, a frown in her voice. "Give me one moment, love."

Through a muffed hand, Edward heard her ask, "Alice, dearie, have you seen Bella today? Has she been in?"

Edward did not hear her reply.

"Fiona! Fiona, really quick dear, have you seen Edward's Bella here at all today?"

He didn't realize he was holding his breath.

"Edward, are you still there?" she asked unnecessarily.

"Aye. Has she been there?"

"No, no one has seen her."

~O~

"Mate, she could no have gotten far – she has no car," Jasper tried to assure him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Edward shook his head in frustration as his uncle and cousin watched him pace in the small confines of the office, an office which seemed too cramped at the moment. "Aye but there are busses…busses with stops no more than a mile away. Buses that go to train and ferry stations."

Jasper frowned, not having considered this.

"Edward, son, I do not think she has left," Carlisle insisted patiently, "Have the two of ye had a…a spat or something recently?"

Edward shook his head in frustration.

"I dinnae think so…I thought we had actually been getting on rather well…ah dinnae ken!"

"She has no left."

"How do ye know?" Edward demanded.

Carlisle remained infuriatingly calm. "That is an honest woman if I ever saw one. At the very least, she would no have left without telling ye."

Edward ran his hand through his hair and then grabbed at his coat.

He was not going to argue his wife's virtue with his uncle, but while he believed that she was an honest woman, he also was well aware of the fact that she had her fair share of secrets.

"I'm going to the house to look."

Carlisle was not surprised. He nodded and replied, "I'll stay here in the event she turns up and Jasper will go and track down Robert…he left in the afternoon, perhaps he knows something."

Jasper grimaced as he and Edward shared a knowing look.

"Whit now?" Carlisle asked, exasperation creeping into his calm demeanor.

"He went down to the boats with the fishermen," Jasper explained to his father. "They were going out this afternoon and I dinnae think they were planning on coming back until tomorrow."

Carlisle was nonplused. "Well. Go and see if they have left yet."

In a moment's time, both Edward and Jasper had shrugged into their coats and were headed to the door, in search for the missing American woman.

~O~

Having gotten stuck behind two slow moving tourists who had no business attempting to drive on the left side of the road, Edward was tense. So tense that his hands were shaking, something he would have noticed had he not been gripping the steering wheel to the point of white knuckles.

When he entered the home, it felt empty.

He didn't even bother to kick off his boots and instead brought in with him sludge like mud.

"Bella?" he called. "Bella are ye here?"

No response.

He went straight to the master bedroom, frowning when he saw the opened door leading to a vacant space.

"Bella?" he asked again, scanning the space.

` Upon laying eyes on her purse and jacket resting on the bed, Edward felt his shoulders sag.

 _She had been here._

At the very least, she had been there.

At this discovery, he expected to feel renewed hope and a sense of relief that at least she had not left him in the middle of the afternoon.

But where was she?

Edward left the room and checked in the bathroom, finding the door open and the room empty. He then checked his bedroom, finding it empty. There was no sight of her in the living room or the kitchen either.

"Bella?" he called, louder this time.

Nothing.

The telephone then started to ring, cutting through the oppressive silence.

Torn between haste and dread, he opted for haste, rushing to the home telephone set.

"Hallo?" he said hurriedly into the phone.

"Is she there?" Carlisle asked without ceremony.

His heart sank.

"No."

Carlisle was silent.

"We will find her."

Edward hung up.

Shaking his head, a sense of urgency mingling with his fear and concern, he refocused his efforts, looking out the window to the light fading on the horizon. Perhaps she had gone for a small walk. His father had often done that, enjoying their expansive land and the views of the Hebrides.

Making a quick stop in the detached garage to make sure she was not there, he continued around the perimeter of the house.

"Bella! Bella, lass, where are ye?"

With the wind whipping across his face, he searched for at least a quarter of an hour. The light faded, making it a race against time to search the perimeter of their lands before he was bathed in darkness.

"Bella! Bella?" he yelled, feeling the strain in his voice as he yelled against the wind.

Finally, it was too dark for him to see anything across the barren land. His hurried walk turned into a run as he made his way back to the house.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it in his stomach and had felt it ever since he found the office empty.

While he told himself he was being irrational, he would not ignore the sharp feeling in his heart that she was in trouble.

* * *

See you soon.


	24. Found

The phone was ringing when Edward got back into the house, chilled from searching his land for his missing wife.

"Hallo?" he asked, dejected.

"Ye have no found her?" Carlisle asked without preamble.

"No. Sh-" Edward broke off and swallowed against his dry throat. "She's no here."

Neither man said anything for a moment. There's little preparation for conversation structure when one doesn't know precisely where one's wife is.

"The boats were already gone by the time Jasper got there," Carlisle reported on Robert's status apologetically. "And she has not turned up here."

Edward's heart was pounding in his chest.

"Right. Well Jasper and I are going to go to old MacKinnon's house, ye ken, the one right by the stop to Mallaig? Aye, we'll ask if he's seen anything – discreetly of course, the last thing we need is folks with questions. Either way, we'll take the car to the ferry terminal."

"Aye, thank ye," he replied.

"Ye've searched everything?" his uncle asked, "The whole house? All the land?"

Edward snapped at that, "This is mae wife yer talking about! No a lost wallet or a set of keys!"

"Aye," Carlisle agreed in his calm tone. "Look once again…this time, see if ye might be able to find any clues about where she might be. Check the whole house, aye?"

Edward took a deep breath and let it out before he nodded, "Aye," he agreed. "Thank ye."

~O~

After combing through Bella's bedroom, including her purse and suitcase, he was back in the living room, having found nothing remotely suspicious.

As he scanned the space, his eyes landed on the stairway. It was not frequently used since Alice's bedroom was the only thing on that floor. He had not been up there since Alice had asked him to grab one of her pillows for her room at the Isles.

To his knowledge, Isabella had never been up there.

Edward climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He entered the room, stomach in knots upon finding it empty.

It looked just as it had the last time he had been up hear on Alice's request.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath.

If she wasn't at home, at Sleat, or at the Isles, where could his wife be?

Dread was creeping on him, a dread that Carlisle and Jasper would be fruitful in their search of public transit. It was dread that his wife that he happened to be unusually fond of – pretend or not – might have left him and their absurd semblance of a marriage

He was about to turn on his heel when he saw a picture frame on the ground. He recognized it as a picture of their family, easily seeing the bright hair of his mother and sister.

He went to it and as he was bending down to pick it up, he froze.

Hidden by the tall bed lay his wife lying unconscious, blood on the ground in a pool surrounding her thighs.

The town of Uig on the Isle of Skye was as quiet as the rest of the tourist towns in the winter weather, only a few locals were out in the chill, gathered at the only restaurant and bar in the small bay town.

"Have ye been over to Portree lately?" one of the older women said to her companion as they nursed their second glasses of cheap merlot.

"No, not in a couple weeks or so. Why?"

"Did you hear- "

"About MacDonald and his bride? Oh aye."

The first woman looked disappointed that she was not the first to bring the news.

"Quite a story, is it no?" she asked conspiringly, recovering.

"MacDonald and an American lass no one had ever heard of? Aye, quite a wee love story."

"Ye think so?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Think what?"

"It's a love story."

"I mean what else…what? What do you know?" she accused, seeing the look in her friend's eye and knowing what a gossip she was when it came to matters on the isle.

"It's just…interesting don't ye think?"

"What do ye ken?" she asked, lowering her voice so the two other patrons would not overhear any salacious gossip.

"Oh nothing…" she trailed of airily. "Don't you just think it's a wee bit strange? Everyone knows Sleat was struggling to keep its doors open. Hell, it's been struggling since MacDonald died."

"And you think the lass has something to do with it?"

"She's always there."

The woman didn't bother to ask how her friend knew this.

"I dinnae ken. But I would no guess that what it is between them is love."

"Aren't there laws about that sort of thing?"

The two shared a long look.

They each took a sip of their wine. The second woman ran her tongue over her tooth, feeling the sweet wine irritate her enamel.

"Interesting," she said, mulling it over. She would have to ask her husband if he had heard anything as he had been to the Isles Inn last week. Everyone knew MacDonald was close to his aunt and uncle.

With a chuckle and shrug, the gossiping woman suggested, "Well, maybe the lass is pregnant."

~O~

"999. This is the Scottish Emergency line, what is your emergency?"

"My Bella- my wife is unconscious and there is of blood around her thighs."

"How long has she been unconscious?"

"I dinnae ken! I only just found her here."

"Does she have any known medical conditions?"

"I…I dinnae ken. I dinnae think so, but I dinnae know."

"Alright sir, we're going to go ahead and send an ambulance. Where are you located?"

"The Isle of Skye. Trotternish Peninsula. No 22 Fasach."

"Sir, I need you to stay with your wife until the ambulance gets there. If she becomes conscious, make sure to keep her head still until the medics get there. There is a possibility that they will determine the case to be too severe to treat here, in which case we would need to transport her to Inverness."

Shaking hands cradled her pale face as the woman on the line spoke in a calm monotone, seeming to be unable to grasp the fact that his world felt like it was falling apart in front of his very eyes.

~O~

"Carlisle, I found her. The ambulance is coming for her. She's lost so much blood…I can barely feel her pulse. I dinnae ken what's wrong."

There was a pause.

"No, she has not been conscious since I found her."

Pause.

"Tell Esme."

~O~

The paramedics arrived 20 minutes later and 25 minutes later, Isabella was in the back of an ambulance racing down the peninsula. They had not even gotten the chance to ask Edward if he would like to drive behind them or ride in the vehicle before he was in the back of the ambulance, sitting by her head and running a hand down her forehead.

"Her name is Bella – Isabella MacDonald. She's 29. No, I have no clue about prior medical history. We've only been married a month. She works with me at Sleat Distillery."

"Any chance she could be pregnant?"

Edward froze.

The flow of thoughts ceased.

 _Pregnant?_

"Doug!" the woman working on Isabella called to the other paramedic who had been asking him questions.

The man threw the clipboard on the bench and went over Isabella's body, forgetting the question that had just formed a brick in Edward's throat. The other paramedic, Jenny, was shaking her head in frustration as she looked at the cuff around Isabella's arm.

"I cannae get a blood pressure reading on her," she informed him solemnly.

Doug took over in Jenny's spot and tried the same thing Edward had just seen Jenny do but he too shook his head in frustration.

"She's lost so much blood," Doug shook his head.

"And her pulse is so weak. Her body is trying to shut down."

Edward bent down to lay his forehead on top of his wife's cool skin.

~O~

She had not regained sustained consciousness in the 45-minute ride.

The ambulance flew across the roads, shortening a drive that should have taken 2 hours into 40 minutes.

In that time, her pulse continued to drop, and they remained unable to get her blood pressure.

The ambulance had barely come to a screeching halt when the doors burst open and three doctors worked with the paramedics to easily get Isabella's body out of the car and onto a gurney, wheeling her quickly into the emergency room entrance.

Edward tried to follow, ignoring the numb feeling in his legs that made him want to fall over.

"Sir, you will have to go to the visitor entrance and wait for an update there."

Edward shook his head fiercely. "That's my wife, I'm no leaving her."

The woman in scrubs shook her head, her eyes softening at seeing the concern in his face.

"We will take care of her as best as we can. Let us do our jobs and we will have an update for you soon, sweetheart."

Edward had heard it all before.

The best they could was not always enough.

He knew that better than anyone.

~O~

In a sort of daze, Edward had identified himself to the visitor desk, got a sticky nametag printed with Isabella's patient ID, slapped it on his shirt and gone off in the direction of the surgical waiting room.

"Your wife has been taken into surgery, Mr. MacDonald."

How many times had his father heard those exact words?

Only to end up a widower.

It was too familiar of a narrative.

Both of his parents were gone well before their time. Both of them had died from health complications. He was not naïve enough to think that it did not happen.

But God did he wish he was.

He wished he was naïve enough to be able to handle Isabella being in surgery as her body attempted to shut down.

He wished that naivety could lead to a sense of ignorance that might give him peace.

He wished he was naïve enough to be strong.

But he wasn't.

The waiting room was empty, save a middle-aged woman who was asleep on one of the uncomfortable looking couches. She was curled up with her knees at her chest and seemed to have been waiting for a long time.

Edward could not bear to sit in any of the hospital furniture.

He could not bear to pace.

The room was off to the side in an alcove of sorts. From any vantage point, one could not see the door that read "Hospital Personnel Only."

Edward leaned against the wall that gave him the clearest view of the door. The door that someone would sure to be coming out with news. News that his wife was going to be alright. News that would explain why she was bleeding. News that would tell him it was okay.

He ran both of his hands over his face and into his hair as he slid down the wall, tears sliding down his cheeks as he did so.

Never had he been so terrified.

It was too familiar for him not to be.

Squeezing his eyes shut again, he tried to stop the flow of tears that had taken over. He leaned his head against the wall, eyes still closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

 _Protect her_.

 _Please protect her_.

 _Da, please_.

As he sat there in fear and uncertainty, he felt the presence of his father. Maybe it wasn't the presence of him, but he felt close to him.

He understood the fear his father must have felt all of those months that his mother had been battling cancer. As a child, he had assumed that his fear had been the same as his father's. It was big and deep and sharp.

But this was different.

This was an even sharper pain. A more paralyzing fear.

At no point did it to occur to him that he was feeling this about a woman who was never meant to be his wife. A woman who had married him to save his business, not for his heart or his love.

As Edward slowly let out a breath, he heard footsteps.

Not wanting to be pulled from his misery but not wanting to be run over if it was a hospital personnel trying to get through, Edward grudgingly opened his swollen eyes.

For a moment, he was taken aback.

From a distance, he could have sworn it was his father approaching him.

After a few blinks, he remembered that his brother had always born a striking resemblance to their father.

Emmett was walking towards him, the same white sticky name tag identifying him with Isabella MacDonald on his chest.

Edward rubbed at both his eyes with the palms of his hands, scrubbing out the moisture that threatened to keep flowing. Emmett slowed his steps as he reached his brother.

"Esme called me," was all he said.

Edward nodded, not looking at him. He stared straight ahead, willing someone to come out of the double glass doors with an update for him.

Emmett said nothing else as he slid down the wall next to Edward. Mirroring Edward, he pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms loosely around them. He was sitting close enough so that his shoulder was touching Edward's.

His brother said nothing.

He asked no questions.

He made no small talk.

He remained silent.

But in remaining silent and in saying nothing, it spoke volumes. They had just gotten into the largest fights of their lives over Bella. Emmett didn't trust her, didn't understand or like the situation.

But he was choosing family above his own opinions.

Edward sat with his head bowed, praying to whatever ancestor, saint or god who had the time to listen.

 _Da._

 _Maw._

 _Please._

After what felt like hours, Emmett finally cleared his throat.

"I may no know much about her, but the lass seems stubborn as hell."

Edward sighed slowly, his head falling back against the wall.

He thought of the woman who barged into his office after eavesdropping on a confidential, financial conversation. A woman who had conceived the most preposterous way to save his family business. The only way to save it.

The woman who had invited him into his bedroom on their wedding night. Into her arms and into his heart.

"Aye. Aye she is."

An hour later, the double doors finally were pushed open.

A woman with green scrubs and a scrub cap came through them. There were light purple smudges under light green eyes. She glanced briefly around the waiting room, seeing only the other woman who was still asleep on the couch and then settled her eyes back on Edward.

He was already scrambling to his feet.

"Mr. MacDonald?" she asked in a clear American accent. "I'm Dr. Williams."

"Aye, yes," he replied.

Emmett was slowly rising to his feet behind him.

"And this is your-?" she asked, nodding to Emmett.

"Brother," Edward supplied hurriedly.

Recognizing the cue from her pointed stare, Emmett nodded over at the nearby restrooms. "I'll just be in the loo."

The doctor waited until he was down the hall.

"Your wife is stable."

Edward's shoulders sagged in relief.

 _Thank you, Maw. Da_.

Dr. Williams' expression, however, did not soften.

"Were the two of you trying for a baby?"

"A wean?" he asked dumbly, unable to form any other words. Somehow, he had entirely forgotten entirely about the paramedic's question in the ambulance, consumed as he was with worry for her.

She nodded.

Edward did not move his head in an affirmative or negative motion.

All he could do was stare at her.

 _A baby?_

"Your wife had a miscarriage. As a result of its abnormal severity, she was hemorrhaging…"

Edward did not hear the rest, did not understand the foreign words that were coming out of her mouth.

 _A miscarriage?_

"How far along was she?" Edward finally asked, blinking and cutting off her sentence.

That curious stare remained in the doctor's eyes.

"We typically see this at 9-12 weeks."

4 weeks.

The two of them had only been married for 4 weeks.

"And no any sooner?"

He had to know if it was possible.

"Not of this severity, no."

* * *

Fear not, the next update will not be as far away.

During the day, I manage a cluster of grocery stores. As you can imagine, that has been incredibly time and energy consuming these past 6 weeks. Hence the delay. Be kind to your cashiers and stockers, friends. They're doing their best, as are we all.

Stay healthy and we'll see you soon.


	25. Safety

**UNREAD Inbox**

 **From: David Andrews**

 **Date: Mon, Nov 17, 2008 at 11:02 AM**

 **Subject: RE: Sleat Proposal**

 **To: Edward MacDonald**

M _r. MacDonald,_

 _I must say, I was surprised to find your inquiry in my inbox this morning. I had thought from how we ended our conversation that you and your wife were not interested in our proposal._

 _That being said, I am delighted to learn the contrary._

 _Sleat Distillery has a brilliant product and a lovely family history. Diageo has a strong reputation of turning brands like yours into household names and it is my sincerest intent to do the same for Sleat, if you will allow me._

 _I have attached a preliminary contract that outlines the finer details of our proposal. While Diageo would be the primarily holder of the company, you would be allowed to continue to serve in a managerial capacity, keeping the business in the family operationally._

 _I will be in Scotland in two weeks and would be thrilled to make the trip to the Isle of Skye if you would like to discuss the contract._

 _You have a real winner on your hands, Mr. MacDonald._

 _Sincerely,_

 **David Andrews**

 **VP of European Business Development**

 **Diageo**

~O~

Isabella had been dreaming about her grandparents.

It was the first time she had ever dreamt of them as an adult. Flashes of childhood memories sometimes came to her, but in them, she was never over 21, the age they died.

The dream was foggy and as soon as her eyes opened, she forgot it almost entirely.

The three of them had been sitting at a wicker table near a lake. Her grandfather had mentioned an issue his boat was having with starting and her grandmother had been telling her about a new way of making iced tea. They had talked about the new man to join their poker league, how they thought he was nice but a bit odd in the way he played. They had commented on the beautiful sunset.

The dream had been nothing of significance.

Yet it had been everything that made her feel safe.

And then she woke up, tucked into an unfamiliar bed with harsh cleaning chemicals filling her nose and low fluorescent lights assaulting her eyes.

Safety stripped.

She hadn't even realized she was scared until she heard a steady beeping increase and become erratic.

Not feeling any immediate pain, she attempted to take a deep breath through her nose.

The motion drew attention to a dull pain in her abdomen and a sharp ache in her head.

The last thing she remembered was being cold.

So cold.

Too cold.

As she took shallow breaths, experimenting with the pain, she thought harder and remembered a picture of young Edward.

She remembered a period that seemed far too heavy.

She remembered cramping that seemed too strong.

She thought she remembered lips on her forehead.

Moments later, a doctor came into the room.

With a stoic face, Isabella listened silently as she told her what had happened to her.

Only her lip quivered.

She wished she could go back to sleep.

She wished she could close her eyes and be back by the lake with her grandparents.

Back to safety.

~O~

Edward waited until the doctor spoke to her.

He had been in her room when she had started to stir from her medically induced slumber. Whether it was an act of cowardliness or an act of courtesy, he couldn't entirely say, but as she shifted in her sleep, he rose to go and retrieve the doctor before she could wake fully up.

It wasn't his place to tell her.

God, it wasn't his place.

Dr. Williams had the night shift it seemed and was easily paged from the nurse's station. She answered the call quickly and calmly, shrugging into her white coat and sparring only a moment's glance at Emmett, the sole occupant remaining in the waiting room. He was asleep upright in an uncomfortable chair, his hands folded in his lap. He had refused to leave, saying the furniture looked more comfortable than the bed he had at his hotel.

Edward was thankful he hadn't woken up to the footsteps.

While the doctor went into the room, Edward turned into the men's restroom near Isabella's room. He locked the turn behind him with unsteady hands. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink and looking into the mirror, he let out a deep, long breath.

His heart was pounding in his chest, pumping with an unexplained adrenaline.

He took another breath.

Feeling the swollenness around his eyes, he blinked a few times, experimenting with the dry skin before switching on the faucet. Once a stream of cold water was coming out, he dipped his hands under the water and splashed it onto his face, trying to get the dry, puffy feeling out of his face.

After a few moments, he reluctantly turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel to dry his face.

It hadn't helped. Still swollen.

Moving slowly, he crumpled the paper towel up in his hand and placed it carefully into the waste basket before looking back in the mirror. Eyes still puffy, heart still pumping.

He took another breath.

What could he possibly say to her?

~O~

Dr. Williams checked a few of her vitals and made a few notes on her chart but did not linger after it became apparent that Isabella did not have any questions.

In fact, she had closed her eyes and only the absence of footsteps indicated that the doctor had left.

God, she missed her grandparents.

The only parents she had ever had.

If she squeezed her eyes hard enough, maybe she could get back.

It was a futile attempt.

They were gone.

With a reluctant breath and her safety stripped, Isabella opened her eyes.

Leaning against the door frame stood Edward.

His arms were crossed against his chest and his head was resting against the door frame as he studied her, his gaze steady and intent.

"Hey there," he finally breathed in his Scottish brogue, his lips twisting up just so slightly.

Isabella swallowed.

"Hey," she said gently.

Neither of them said anything.

A memory floated into her head: that absurd morning when MacLeod had barged into their house after their wedding, they had fallen into the same bout of silence, induced by a lack of knowledge on how to proceed by both parties.

It was then as it was now, an impossible situation.

Isabella didn't know what to say to him.

She was drained and weak.

And she was a coward.

What could she possibly say to him?

What words could she use to explain?

There was nothing, short of explaining everything.

And if she explained everything, she would have nothing.

After an indistinguishable amount of time, Edward pushed off from the door frame and came near her, his steps slow and easy, as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

Isabella blinked.

At her movement, two tears slipped out of her eyes, tears she hadn't realized were threatening to leak.

Edward gingerly sat down on the side of her bed, just barely perched, taking up no large amount of room.

As he let out a slow breath, he looked at her with such tenderness, such compassion. His lips had a slight upward tilt, but his eyes had a sadness, a sadness born of concern and shared pain.

Looking at his blue eyes and being the recipient of their concern in a way that she hadn't been in years made another tear fall.

"Edward, I-" she swallowed and blinked stubbornly away at the appearance of additional tears.

With a shake of his head, he reached to brush some stray hair back and cup her cheek.

"Rest," he insisted softly. "We have time, aye?"

Isabella met his eyes and the nodded.

"I didn't know…I'm sorry," she breathed, feeling another tear slip out.

At the quiet words, Edward's arms carefully engulfed her.

"Shhh. It's awright, Bella. It's awright."

Though it was undeserved and dishonest, Isabella closed her eyes and had what she needed as he rubbed her back softly.

Safety.

* * *

A brief update but a poignant one. More to come soon.

Be well.


End file.
